Save You
by piccolina789
Summary: What begins as a routine missing persons case turns out to be a game changer for Grissom... in more ways than one. GSR.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **I knew I couldn't stay away for very long! This story has actually been in the works for a long time – I started writing it during the summer, but postponed publishing it until I could give it my full attention. And now here we are! This is NOT a work in progress, it is very near completion, so chapters will be posted as they are re-read and fine tuned!

This is going to be _slightly_ A/U – but don't run away yet! It's still very much in the CSI world, still very much in character, and it will eventually intertwine with canon CSI. You'll see what I'm talking about over the next few chapters. I'm really excited to see what you think.

And finally, thanks very much to ILoveJorja for agreeing to beta this story for me, even though she is busy, busy!

Enjoy!

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><p><em>Prologue<em>

If I could swear by anything, it is this: the evidence never lies.

Ask anyone I work with – Jim, Catherine, Nick, Warrick, Holly – and they'll all tell you the same thing. I'd swear by it up and down, left and right. Humans lie. The evidence doesn't. To me, throughout my career and up through my first few years in Vegas, that was all that mattered.

I started saying it so much, everyone else began swearing by it too. Could I have asked for a better team?

In all honesty, I couldn't. They were hardworking and skilled. In fact, the only concern I had was about our newest recruit – a daughter of a traffic lieutenant that Jim had been anything but forced to hire. Her name was Holly Gribbs.

Her first day on the job was rough, to say the least. She was yelled at by an irritable Jim, nearly fainted at her first autopsy, then got locked in a room full of bodies and was subsequently held at gunpoint twice in two cases. Luckily for her, Catherine had been able to rescue her from the first gun situation of the night. Warrick was only just in time to save her from a perp who had returned to the scene of his own crime. Holly was checked out in the hospital for a few bumps and bruises and walked away relatively unharmed.

Thanks to Warrick's quick-thinking and good timing, Holly had been lucky. But needless to say, after her rough start, Jim felt she needed a good talking to. And apparently, I was the one to do it. I sat Holly down in my office, and after offering her some fresh chocolate-covered cockroaches for a second time, told her in the nicest way I could that she was going to have to step up her work if she expected to keep her job here. She was respectful and serious, nodded in all the right places, and, over the next couple of weeks, proceeded to do just that. She still wasn't ready for solo cases, and Catherine or I had to read over each of her case reports to scan for error, but she was improving.

So all in all, I was optimistic that the graveyard team would be the preeminent shift in the lab. And on top of that, I had no cases that seemed to challenge my master theory.

The evidence is _always _the most important.

But then, I hadn't anticipated the Sidle case.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: **I thanked each of you who reviewed the last chapter, but I also want to thank all of you who put this story on your alerts. It makes me happy that the prologue caught your attention, and I'm excited that so many of you are sticking around to see what is to come!

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><p><em>Chapter One<em>

It had begun as an ordinary shift. Boringly ordinary. As Jim handed out our shift assignments, it was clear that there was no huge, time-pressing case that needed our attention.

Warrick and Nick got a run-of-the-mill B&E, and the fact that the two of them were sent on the case together said enough about the night. As the two men grabbed their kits and took off, Jim was left with just one assignment briefing sheet.

"Well, guys, I have one case and three of you," he said. "I hate to do this, but Catherine, Holly, you guys are on the board tonight."

He gestured behind him to the large fish corkboard with scraps of paper and pictures from cases gone cold tacked haphazardly on it.

"Start with the most recent ones first, and work through them until you catch anything new," Jim continued. "If anything breaks, and I need you off it, I'll let you know."

Neither woman looked thrilled to be assigned the unexciting task, but they trooped off diligently.

"What about me?" I asked.

"Missing persons case," Jim answered, handing me the case slip. "I don't know anything about it except for the person filing the report is here now. Thought you could go talk to him."

"You coming with?"

"The duties of lab director calls," Jim sighed. "Paperwork, and mountains of it. Catch me up when you're done. Guy is by reception. Keep me updated."

I made my way towards the front of the building and glanced at the paper in my hand before addressing the twenty-something man filling out paperwork on the bench in front of me.

"Mr. Cooper?" I asked softly, interrupting him from his scribbling. "I'm Gil Grissom, I'm a CSI here at the Crime Lab."

He raised his head to look at me, and I could see worry lines crisscrossed over his young face. He looked like he hadn't slept much.

"Michael," he said distractedly. "You can call me Michael."

"Michael, I want to ask you some questions about your friend," I said. "Will you follow me over here?"

I took his paperwork and led the young man (who looked to be about Nick and Warrick's age) to a bench in the reception area, away from the activity of the front desk. We sat facing each other, and Michael fiddled with the ballpoint pen still in his fingers.

"Michael, how long has your friend been missing?"

"A little over a day," he said. "We're old friends from college. We haven't seen each other in ages, but… she was in town for a few days, and needed a place to stay, so she called me up. I'm the only person she knows in Vegas."

"What was she here for?"

"She wanted to go to some week-long seminar at WLVU," he answered, running a hand through thick brown hair. "She – she's in grad school, considering forensics, and they're doing some classes on, I don't know… forensics stuff."

I nodded. I knew the seminar he was speaking of, Catherine had actually planning on going, as the classes were free for alumni and helpful for brushing up on techniques. But between work, Lindsey and Eddie, she couldn't find the time. The series of five classes were held for five nights in a row, at eight p.m. One of my colleagues at the lab was actually teaching the class on blood patterns the following night.

"When was the last time you saw your friend, Michael?"

"Last night," he said. "We got dinner together before her class. She's the definition of an over-achiever, so she usually stays hours asking questions after the class ends. She wasn't home when I went to bed last night, but I didn't think anything of it until she still wasn't home this morning. That's when I knew something was wrong."

"Michael, is there a possibility that your friend… got caught up in something last night?" I asked. "Met someone, or… went to a party and passed out somewhere?"

It was a logical alternative. It wouldn't be the first case of a young tourist gone wild in Vegas, consuming a little too much alcohol and losing track of time for a day or two, sometimes more. But Michael was shaking his head adamantly.

"No," he said firmly. "No, that's not Sara. I told you, she's the consummate over-achiever. She's not one for the party scene anyway, but she would never get distracted when it comes to her career. She was here for the classes, not the clubs."

"Okay," I said calmly, making a note of this in the small notebook I always carried with me. "Do you have any idea where she could be? Does she have a car?"

"No," Michael repeated. "I picked her up from the airport, and I've been dropping her off at the school every night. She said she could take the bus, but… she's never been to Vegas before. I didn't want her getting lost."

"Do you have _any _idea of where she might be?"

"I tried getting hold of her all day today, and when I couldn't, I called the school. The professor that taught the class tonight said he never saw her. She never showed up."

A small snap made us both jump. The pen that Michael had been twisting around had snapped in half. He looked up at me in surprise.

"Michael, are you and Sara… involved?" I asked.

"Me and… ? No. No, not at all. I told you, we're friends from school. That's it."

He fidgeted in his chair. For how truly distressed he seemed, it was a fair question. But I believed his answer.

"Mr. Grissom, I know Sara," Michael continued. "She's a smart girl and she knows how to take care of herself. Disappearing like this… it's not like her. I'm… I'm really worried."

There was a pause between us, one that was somewhat awkward, given that I had no idea what to say, or how to offer this kid any sort of comfort. That was Nick's MO, not mine.

"Michael, I'm going to have you stay here, write down your statement, and talk to one of the detectives," I said instead. "Give them a description, and they'll put out an APB for Sara."

I stood.

"And… what are you going to do?"

His tone was not accusatory, but anxious.

"I'm going to go to your apartment," I said, gesturing to the address he'd written on his paperwork. "I'm going to see if there are any clues there as to where Sara might be. I'm also going to collect some DNA in case we need it later. Is there anything in your home that would have her DNA?"

"Yeah, she has tons of stuff in my bathroom," Michael said. "You… you don't think she's dead, do you?"

I was surprised at how quickly he'd jumped to that conclusion.

"No," I told him calmly.

"Then… why do you need her DNA?"

"It's just standard procedure," I said. "And it might come in handy later. I'm going to get someone to come take your statement, okay? They'll also take your fingerprints, to rule you out of anything I find at your home."

Michael nodded.

"Have you… contacted her friends and family from back home?" I asked him. "Is there anyone we should call?"

"She… she has no family," Michael said softly. "Her dad died when she was young, and she's never mentioned a mom or any siblings. As for friends… I told you I hadn't seen Sara in a while. I don't even know who you would call."

On my way to the locker room to retrieve my kit, I called Jim.

"It's Gil," I said when he answered. "I'm going out in the field for this missing persons case. Send someone to take the friend's statement."

"Sound like anything suspicious yet?"

"There's not much to go on, but from what it sounds like, it's not just another 'disappearing partier' case'," I said. "I'll let you know."

"Hey, take Catherine with you," Jim added. "She'll be happy to get away from the fish board."

I ducked into the layout room, where Catherine and Holly were spread out with dozens upon dozens of files and papers.

"Hey," I addressed Catherine. "You're backing me up on my missing person. Let's go."

Holly groaned.

"What about me?"

"Sorry, Hol," I said with a wink at her.

"Brass is still taking it out on me for getting sick on my first autopsy," she complained. "_Everyone_ has a case but me."

"Next time, kiddo," Catherine said without a hint of sympathy as we walked out of the lab.

And thus began the case that changed my life.


	3. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

"What a mess."

We were standing in Michael Cooper's apartment, a space that could only justly be described as such: a mess. Dirty dishes were overflowing in the sink, half-filled glasses of soda and empty bags of chips littered the living room. The dust balls collecting in every corner suggested the place hadn't been cleaned in months.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Catherine asked.

"I'm not sure yet."

We made our first sweep through the apartment, not collecting anything yet, just observing. Michael's bathroom and bedroom were equally disasters, with tiny hairs covering the sink and floor near the toilet and dirty clothes strewn all around the bed, but it was a different story in the room that appeared to be where Sara was staying.

The room was white and undecorated, just a dresser and a bookshelf accompanying the bed. A medium-sized suitcase filled with neat stacks of business-casual clothes was on the floor. The bed was made. Five organized piles of books and papers were on the dresser. There were cell phone and computer charges plugged into the walls, but no cell phone or computer.

"Well, this is just first blush, but I'd say there's not much to go on here," Catherine observed. "No signs of forced entry… no signs of a struggle. And this is the only room in the house where I can walk two feet without stepping on a potato chip."

"According to the friend's statement, the girl never came home after her class last night," I said. "So this room is probably exactly how she left it yesterday evening."

"These papers seem to fit that theory," Catherine said, standing by the dresser. "This girl is organized."

I joined her by the books and papers. Each stack was a neat pile, with a purple sticky note on top. The first pile's note read _Monday: The Changing Face of DNA_, followed by _Tuesday: Computer Forensics. _Wednesday's pile was missing.

"She took her papers with her yesterday, and never came back for today's," Catherine said, half to herself, letting her finger trail over to Thursday's pile, _The Art of Fingerprinting. _"Have you gotten hold of the speaker from Wednesday's seminar?"

"Not yet," I answered. "But he might have been one of the last people to see her, so it's my first priority when we get back to the lab."

Catherine knelt by the suitcase on the floor, snapping on gloves and rifling through the clothes in there. She pulled out several forensics journals and a thick book on physics.

"How old is this girl?"

I glanced at Michael's report in my files.

"Twenty-four," I answered. "Almost out of graduate school."

"She must be really serious about forensics," Catherine said, flipping through the pages of the book. "There's stuff in here that even I don't understand. But then, physics was never really my thing."

Her eyes wandered over to the cell phone charger.

"I'm guessing no answer on her phone?"

"Her friend tried several times throughout the day," I said. "No answers. I'll have AV track her number, though. If it's on and happens to be equipped with a GPS device, there might be a chance to triangulate the signal."

Catherine zipped the book in an evidence bag, initialed it, and stood up.

"Well? What do you think?"

"That there's nothing for us here," I said. "There's nothing to disprove the friend's statement that she disappeared after her class yesterday. She obviously didn't sleep in this bed last night. The human element seems to be more important than the evidentiary one in this case."

Catherine gaped at me.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"We need to talk to that teacher."

"You want to get a DNA sample?"

I stopped, surprised that I had almost forgotten.

"Bathroom," I said. "There should be a hairbrush or a toothbrush… would you go collect it? I'll process here quickly, then we can head back."

Catherine disappeared into the hallway and I snapped a few pictures of Sara's makeshift bedroom. Each pile of papers, her suitcase, the row of shoes lined up underneath the window and an overall of the room. I rifled through everything once more in hopes of finding something even remotely probative, but with no luck.

So within a half an hour of arriving at Michael's apartment, we were in the Denali heading back to the lab, our meager collection of evidence bags in the trunk. The small apartment space hadn't told us much, but I hadn't expected it to. Unless a kidnapper had broken in and taken Sara there, there would be no trail, clues or evidence. Back at the lab, Catherine broke off from me to check in what evidence we did have, and I had hardly taken three steps without her when Jim found me.

"Got a description of your missing girl," he said as we walked. "Five-foot-nine, thin, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen in black pants and a blue blouse. Her school faxed over her student I.D. picture, she goes to Berkeley."

He handed me the photo and I almost stopped short, staring at it. Sara Sidle was intriguingly pretty, with dark curly hair, round brown eyes and a teasing smile. The more I seemed to look at it, the prettier she became.

"You, uh, talked to the school already?" I asked, composing myself.

"Confirmed that she was taking the WLVU seminar for credit," Jim answered. "She's only a semester or two away from graduation. They faxed her records, too."

He passed me a file, and while my eyes scanned over it, he recounted the highlights.

"Apparently, she's some sort of girl genius," he said. "Went to Harvard at sixteen, put herself through on financial aid and scholarships, and graduated with a degree in physics. She's at Berkeley for her master's degree, and was scheduled to start a work-study program in the Frisco coroner's office next month."

"You found out all this in the time we were gone?"

"Nick and Warrick already wrapped the B&E and are now joining Holly on the fish board," he said. "This is the only thing I have to do tonight."

"What happened to paperwork?"

"Bah," Jim said, waving my comment away with his hand. "This is much more fun."

"Any next of kin listed?" I asked, getting back to the case. "Friends, family… someone we could contact?"

"Not a one," Jim replied. "Requires further digging."

"Can you take care of that?" I asked him. "I have a few calls to make."

We split up, and I booted up my computer to do an Internet search for WLVU's forensics seminar classes. I found the website for registration and called the head of the department, who used her records to confirm that Sara was enrolled in the seminar and had paid the class fee at the first lecture Monday night. She faxed over a copy of the seminar schedule, and a few minutes later, I was on the phone with Dr. Jeffery Fry, an expert in trace analysis in forensics and the speaker for Wednesday night's lecture. After assuring him he was in no trouble (for now), he agreed to come in and talk to me.

"Dr. Fry, do you recognize this woman?" I asked him, passing him a copy of Sara's Berkeley ID picture.

The middle-aged professor stared at it for a few moments before answering.

"I think she was in my lecture Wednesday," he said. "But I couldn't tell you her name."

"Her name is Sara Sidle," I told him. "And we believe that she went missing sometime after your lecture at WLVU Wednesday night."

"Missing?"

"Did you… see her talking to anyone after class?" I asked him. "See anyone pick her up, or notice anything suspicious at all?"

"Can I see her picture again?"

I pulled it from my case file and Dr. Fry peered at it a few moments longer.

"I remember her now," he said. "She stayed for almost forty-five minutes after the lecture ended asking questions. She'd probably have stayed longer, but my wife kept calling about some mini-crisis, and I had to leave."

"Were there any other students still in the classroom when you left?"

"I can't remember."

"Dr. Fry," I said calmly. "This woman hasn't been heard from in over thirty-six hours. You might have been one of the last people to see her. I need you to think."

The man was silent, staring at his hands, but after a while, he looked up, surprising us both.

"There was someone," he said. "Most of the students cleared out as soon as I finished, but she stayed, she and a guy. He seemed like he was waiting to ask questions when she was done, but like I said, I had to take off."

"Do you know his name?" I asked. "Or what he looked like?"

Dr. Fry looked sincerely apologetic.

"I don't know his name," he said. "I'm sorry, but these aren't my regular students, and I only taught them for a night. But I remember he had a tattoo, on his neck, a bird… or something."

"Thank you, Dr. Fry," I said. "Can you remember anything else, about Sara or about this man, that might help us find her?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Grissom," he said. "My kid is sick, and my wife called me three times during my lecture that night. I can barely remember what I spoke about."

"Thank you."

Outside, Jim was waiting for me.

"Anything?"

"Not much," I answered. "I don't think he's involved in any way, and he has an reliable enough alibi if we wanted to check. He did give me something else to follow-up on… someone."

"This case is like a treasure hunt," Jim said. "No evidence, just one measly clue after another."

"Yeah," I said. "Except the treasure is a young woman."

I flipped open my folder as Jim walked away and again stared at the young, beautiful face of Sara Sidle.

_Where was she?_


	4. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

The next day was slow, and for the first time in many weeks, I was actually able to leave shift on time. I closed an on-going robbery and a cut-and-dry assault case before the end of shift, and no other cases emerged. The whole team was able to leave the lab with no overtime; Nick and Warrick talking excitedly about actually get a good rest before the next shift as they left.

But I was restless. I wasn't hungry when I got home, so I abandoned the thought of eating breakfast. But I couldn't sleep either. My mind was still running a mile a minute on the missing persons case. It wasn't a murder, or nearly one of the most puzzling cases I had worked, but it was approaching nearly two days that this girl had been missing, and it was frustrating me that I couldn't seem to find any trace of her.

I showered, but right after that, I was back on the case, poring over the papers in Sara's file, Michael's statement and description, the transcript of my talk with Dr. Fry and the paperwork Jim had collected on her from Berkeley. Her academic record was definitely impressive. I found myself wondering if, had she not disappeared, we would have crossed paths later on, in the professional world. No doubt to me that she would have been a great crime scene investigator.

Would be. She would be. I was going to find her.

I decided to follow up on the small lead Dr. Fry had given me and called WLVU back, hoping for a list of all the students enrolled in the seminar. If they agreed to provide it, we wouldn't need a warrant.

Luckily, the head of the department that I spoke to earlier was there again, and she was more than eager to help. She faxed me the list of twenty-some students that were signed up to take the classes, and to my delight, the names were accompanied by small, I.D.-sized pictures. I scanned through them anxiously until I found what I was looking for. In the grainy, black and white picture, the tattoo was barely noticeable at best, but it was there. On the neck of Jason Walters.

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><p>"That's a nice tattoo, Jason, when did you get it?"<p>

I'd come in early for this interview. Unlike with Dr. Fry, we were seated in the interrogation room, and Jason didn't seem too thrilled about it.

"About three years ago," he answered. "It's a phoenix."

I smiled. I could see that.

"It… it symbolizes rebirth," he said. "I… used to be an alcoholic. I had a little encounter with the police, and decided to change my life around. Become one of the good guys."

"Is that why you're taking a seminar in forensics?"

The question had come from Catherine, who agreed to start her shift early with me to continue her help on Sara's case. Nick, Warrick and Holly had yet to clock in.

"Yeah," Jason answered. "I thought about being a cop, but I was really good in science as a kid. Thought forensics was the way to go."

"Jason, do you recognize this woman?" I asked, showing him Sara's picture.

"Yeah, that's Sara… something," Jason said. "She was taking the seminar too."

"You know her well?"

Jason shrugged.

"I only met her four days ago."

"Did you ever… see her outside of the seminar?" Catherine prodded.

"No."

I sighed. This _couldn't _be another dead end.

"Jason, we talked to Wednesday night's speaker, Dr. Fry, and he said you and Sara were the last two people to leave the classroom after the lecture."

"Um, yeah," Jason said, shifting a little in his seat. "I'm thinking about specializing in trace, so I wanted to stick around and ask some questions."

"But Dr. Fry had to take off."

"Yes."

"Did you and Sara… speak at all?"

Catherine and I stared at him with such unwavering calmness, that he apparently broke.

"Okay, I… I did see her outside of the seminar," he admitted. "We… we went out for drinks that night."

Catherine's mouth dropped a little bit.

"Why didn't you tell us that before?"

"I don't know," Jason said. "'Cause… I'm in a freakin' interrogation room, being questioned by the police? I didn't want to get in trouble."

"You're not in trouble, Jason," I said. "At least, not yet."

He squirmed a little more.

"What happened when you and Sara got drinks?" I asked. "Where did you go?"

"This bar just a couple blocks from the school," he answered. "Martini's, I think it was called."

"How did you get there?" I continued. "Sara doesn't have a car."

"I do," he said. "I drove her."

I continued to stare at him.

"Look, I know it probably looks weird, but she's cute, okay, and I thought, you know, we could talk forensics and stuff, and then, who knows…"

"So what happened?" Catherine cut in.

"We got to the place, got two seats at the bar, and ordered drinks," he said simply. "We… just talked for a little while, I had another one, and I went to the bathroom. Then my roommate called me, he was drunk and needed a ride. When I came back out to tell her, she was already gone."

"Gone," Catherine repeated. "Just like that."

"Yeah."

"I don't believe you," she said. "Where did she go?"

"Look, I don't know," Jason practically shouted. "One minute she was there and the next…"

He tailed off, looking almost more embarrassed now than upset.

"This isn't the first time this has happened to me," he said. "I go out with girls all the time that either stand me up or get a mysterious "family emergency" in the middle of the date and leave. I'm used to it. I just figured Sara didn't want to lie, and just… left when she had the opportunity."

All three of us were silent for several minutes. If Jason was telling the truth, we were left with an even bigger pile of nothing. Nothing to go on, and unlike my talk with Dr. Fry, not even another clue to follow.

"Look, can I go now?" Jason asked. "I'm going to be late for the last seminar class."

"Yeah, you can go," Catherine sighed.

As he got up to leave, I flipped my cell phone opened.

"Who are you calling?" she asked.

I held up my finger.

"Jim," I said. "Get someone to get a warrant for the security footage from a bar called Martini's for Wednesday night. Sara was there, and it's the only lead we have. Thanks."

"What did he say?"

"Meet him at the lab in an hour."

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><p>The tapes successfully collected, I sat in the AV lab, Catherine at my side, loading the footage into the lab's server. Shift had officially started, and Warrick, Nick and Holly had each actually gotten a case of their own tonight. Even Jim was out in the field. He wanted to put me with Nick on his homicide off the strip, but I convinced him the kid could handle it alone. I didn't want to put down Sara's case.<p>

"You really want to find this girl, don't you?" he had asked.

"She's a young, beautiful girl who has just up and disappeared, Jim," I had replied. "Of course I want to find her."

He'd given me a look that said he suspected more, but let it go. Now, Catherine and I were hopefully about to see what, if anything, or anyone, had intercepted Sara on her date with Jason Wednesday night.

It could have taken us all night to scroll through the footage, the bar was crowded, so even though we knew who we were looking for, it would have taken a careful eye to pick Sara out of the crowd. Luckily, with some math, we'd timed that Sara and Jason had probably arrived around 11:15 p.m. I started playback when the time stamp read 11 p.m., and sure enough, at 11:21 p.m., Catherine spied Sara and Jason seated at the bar, Jason with his back towards the camera, but with his phoenix tattoo still half-visible.

I watched the footage carefully. It seemed as though Sara was having a pleasant enough time. She wasn't outrightly flirting, but she smiled and talked to Jason for the next half-hour or so. She definitely was there on her own terms.

"Oh," Catherine said softly after the forty-five minute mark had passed. "There he goes."

And sure enough, we watched the black and white version of Jason rise from his stool at the bar and head out of the picture.

"Are we sure he didn't leave, go outside or anything?" I asked.

"No, front door's on the opposite side," Catherine answered. "And I've been to that bar before, I'm almost certain the bathrooms are on the far left side – where Jason was headed."

I sighed and continued to watch. Sara sat alone for about a minute, sipping her drink and watching the bartender move about. She was wearing exactly what Michael had described, black dress pants and a blue blouse, and she carried a small purse and a computer bag with her. Even from the grainy footage, it was easy to see that she was pretty. Several men had glanced her way while she talked with Jason, yet no one had made any kind of advances towards her. At least, not yet.

"Hold up," I said. "What's going on here?"

We watched with eyes glued to the screen as a tall man in a dark shirt and baseball hat approached Sara from the side where Jason had sat. His back was towards the camera. He had one arm outstretched to the bar, the other was in his pocket. He was leaning into Sara pretty close.

"Damn, you can't see him at all," Catherine said, her nose, like mine, only inches away from the screen. "His hat blocks any view of his face. Are there any other camera angles?"

I shook my head.

"This is the only one."

Hat-man leaned over the bar.

"What is he doing?" I breathed.

"He's ordering her another drink," Catherine answered, and sure enough, seconds later, the bartender placed a second vodka cranberry in front of Sara.

It was hard to tell from the footage, but it looked like she was resisting drinking it.

"Jason sure is taking a long time in the bathroom," Catherine commented.

"He did say he got a call," I replied. "We could check his phone records and confirm, but I'm starting to believe his story now."

"Me too."

Eventually, Sara took a sip of the drink, and only a few moments later, she slumped back into her chair, her head lolling from one side to the other a little.

"Whoa," Catherine whispered. "She looks a little woozy."

"Do you think he slipped something in her drink?"

"He must have," she answered. "She's a tall girl, there's no way one drink and one sip would have knocked her flat. Drugging her would have made it easy to get her to comply."

"How did he slip it in?" I asked. "I certainly didn't see it."

"There are guys who practically do this for a living," Catherine said, shaking her head. "With some practice… you can spike a drink with a pass of the hand. Either that, or he's working with the bartender."

We kept watching as hat-man slung Sara's arm over his shoulder, bent down to collect her bags, and half-walked, half-dragged her out of the bar. Nobody gave them a second glance. Not even thirty seconds later, Jason came back into the frame, craning his neck around and looking confused.

"Damnit," Catherine swore. "And there's no other footage – inside or outside the bar?"

"No."

"Nothing to help us figure out who this guy is, or how and where she was taken?"

"No."

"Well, what do we do now?"

"We take screen shots of this guy to the bar, talk with the management and the bartender who was on duty that night," I said dully. "But Jim said when he stopped by for the footage, they told him Wednesday was karaoke night, it was loud and crowded. I doubt anyone will remember seeing Sara, or hat-man, or overhearing anything they said to each other."

Catherine threw down her pen in frustration.

"This case is nothing but dead ends."


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: **Just checking in to say hello! And to remind you of my wonderful beta, ILoveJorja, who has betaed all past chapters and I know will only continue to help as the story goes on!

Also - I got a job! VERY exciting, as I've been searching for about five solid months now, and it's actually in my field. I'm really lucky, and relieved and excited, and hopefully my busy few weeks getting moved and started there won't affect the story, but if it does, you know why. I will do my best to keep these updates as regular as possible! _  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Four<em>

And a dead end it was.

Our trip to Martini's yielded exactly what I had expected it to, nothing. The bar's manager was also the karaoke DJ for the night, and had been sitting on the opposite side of the room all night and didn't see a thing. The bartender, a stocky bald guy named Lee, stared at Sara's picture for a little before telling us that he'd served so many customers that night, he couldn't distinguish one face from the next. We even did a full search of the bar – behind the counter, in the back room and every inch of the dance floor – but found no evidence of drugs or anything to support that Lee had helped hat-man drug Sara that night.

So it was nothing but dead ends. We'd followed Sara's trail as far as we could, and we had nothing to lead us further. Her friend Michael came to the station several times over the next week, hoping for good news or further progress, but I had nothing to offer him. No one had seen or heard from Sara in a week. The broadcast Jim sent out produced nothing. No one called in about the picture of Sara that was placed on the news and in the newspaper. She had up and vanished.

Still, as the weeks progressed, I couldn't keep her from my mind. I worked and solved other cases, but in my down time and my free time, I always returned to Sara. I had no idea why. I didn't know if I felt pulled towards her because of our similarities, she was, after all, a scientist and an aspiring CSI, or for my unexplainable attraction to her. I had posted Sara's picture, along with a short briefing of her case, on our fish board, and I found myself stopping and staring at it several times a day without reason. Catherine teased me about it at first, but stopped shortly after she realized how much it was affecting me.

I refused to let myself believe that a young woman with so much potential and ambition had died for absolutely no reason. I refused to let myself think that her kidnapping would go unsolved and she would remain unfound.

I did all that I could. I double and triple checked all the leads Catherine and I had already investigated, hoping over and again that there was something we missed. Once I'd given up on finding anything new about any potential leads or suspects, I started focusing on Sara herself. I researched her records, read up on her background, tried to understand who she was a person, hoping that getting to know her, at least superficially, through paperwork, would give me any idea of where she was or who she could be with.

I found nothing. Well, nothing relevant to her disappearance. In actuality, I'd found a lot. An initial search of her name brought up newspaper articles dating from the eighties, in which I read about how her mother had stabbed and killed her apparently abusive father. The article mentioned a brother, and that had given me a week's worth of research to keep me busy, but I couldn't find any trace of him as an adult. I tracked her foster records, even contacted some of the homes that she was in to see if they'd had any contact from Sara recently, but none had. She'd become legally emancipated from the state when she left for early entrance into college – Harvard – and had apparently made few close contacts since. She was a smart girl, but she was leaving me with nothing.

Catherine humored me. She helped with my research on slow days and occasionally pulled Sara's picture off the board to give to Nick or Warrick, to see if fresh eyes could render anything new.

It didn't.

But she was concerned about me, I could tell. She was concerned with the case's affect on me, especially since I usually wasn't one to get emotional with work. And when I did, the case usually fit one of three categories; sexual assault on children, abused wives or people who preyed on kids. Sara was none of the above. But she stuck with me. When I closed my eyes in yet another futile attempt to sleep, it was her eyes that haunted me.

Forensics had failed me. Even our vainest attempts came up short. We couldn't get a GPS tracking from her phone. It was either off, dead, or out of reach of a signal tower. We had undercover officers in Martini's on random nights for almost two weeks, in hopes of seeing hat-man again, but after five unsuccessful stake-outs, Jim solemnly informed me that we couldn't spare the manpower any more. We analyzed and reanalyzed the bar's security footage, but no amount of processing would give us any clue to who Sara's kidnapper might be. We had nothing on him except that he was about six feet tall, wore a hat, and had used some kind of drug to subdue her.

Forensics had failed me, and I felt like I failed Sara. I'd definitely failed myself. I went about my cases in a zombie-like state, processing the evidence with meticulous detail as always, but not feeling the thrill or urge to solve the puzzle like I used to. My biggest, most important puzzle remained unsolved. I couldn't find the answer.

Until, one day, the answer found me.


	6. Chapter Five

_Chapter Five_

"Gil and Nick, you take the 419 at the Mirage," Jim said. "Seems like suspicious circs, could probably use both of you."

"Jim, I was hoping to –"

"No, Gil," Jim interrupted me firmly. "Sara's case is cold. This one is fresh, and I'm sure the family of the vic would appreciate your best efforts on it."

Despite his stinging words, I felt just a little triumphant, for the little things. _Sara's case_ – usually we refer to cases by the victim's last names, the Harris case, the Johnson case, etc. Sara's case had become so personal to me that it had eventually, by osmosis, become personal to the rest of the team too. Nick oftentimes referred to Sara as "the sister I've never met".

My fleeting moment of joy was just that – fleeting – as the rest of Jim's words settled over me. It had been almost two months since Sara disappeared, but while I held out hope, he thought Sara's case was cold and closed. That we'd never find her. I was about to open my mouth and argue with him, but Nick, probably thankfully, stopped me.

"Come on, Griss," he said. "Traffic will be a nightmare at this time of night, we should probably get going."

We grabbed our kits and keys and headed to the scene, where we were greeted with an obviously redressed male DB, sitting slumped against the rail bars outside the artificial volcano.

"Well, I can see why they called suspicious circs," Nick said as he pulled on a pair of gloves. "Is that dirt crammed into his mouth?"

I knelt beside Nick, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves of my own. I pried a finger between his lips.

"Yep," I confirmed, staring at the brownish powder on my finger.

"So… what?" Nick said. "Body dump? Killed in the desert and brought here?"

"That's what we get to find out," I grinned.

We pulled out our cameras to begin our preliminary crime scene photographs when a scuffle coming from behind us diverted our attention. An older lady in the driver's seat of a car was leaning out the window, calling at the cops for their attention. The uniforms were calling back at her to move along and keep the road around the scene clear.

I raised my eyebrow at Nick.

"I'll be right back."

I approached the car, a red sedan, peering at the driver inside.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" I asked.

"Are you a cop?" she jumped in.

"No," I said calmly. "A crime scene investigator. Is there something we can do to help you?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," she said, leaning back into her seat to reveal her passenger – a dirty, beat-up, bloody, apparently unconscious woman.

As my mouth hung open in shock, the woman continued to explain.

"I found her wandering down Route 564, looking like this," she said. "I only had time to get her into the car before she passed out. She didn't even tell me her name."

I took a few more steps towards the car. The passenger's hair was matted with dirt, but I could tell it was blonde, and from underneath it, guessed her age in the mid-twenties. I took a few more steps. With proximity, I could tell the driver was shaken and nervous.

"Where are you headed?"

"The hospital," she answered. "But I saw the lights and thought that you might be able to help."

"You thought right," I said, motioning for the still-lingering paramedics to get over to the car.

One of them reached through the window to feel for a pulse, and found a weak one. They swooped in and put the girl on a stretcher, firing up the ambulance to take her to the hospital.

"Hold up, I'm going to come with," I called to them before turning back to the driver. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to go with an officer to give your statement."

"I found her like that, I swear—"

"I know," I reassured her. "It's just protocol. You did nothing wrong. I'd go with you if I could, but I need to process this young woman. Okay?"

The woman took a deep breath.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>The 419 at the Mirage quickly became Nick's solo when I phoned Jim to let him know I was accompanying this mystery victim to the hospital. I waited while she was checked out, and before I entered her room, the doctor briefed me on her condition.<p>

"She's pretty banged up," he said. "Four broken ribs, a sprained wrist and a minor concussion. But at least she's conscious."

"Jesus."

"That's not all," he continued. "There's evidence of repeated sexual assault."

"Does she remember anything about what happened?"

"She hasn't said a word to me since she woke up except her name. Maybe you'll have more luck."

"Thanks, doc," I said. "Hey – what is her name?"

"Allison Shepherd."

I knocked quietly on Allison's door before stepping into the quiet room.

"Allison?" I asked. "I'm Gil Grissom, from the crime lab. I'm the one who came with you here, remember?"

If she did, she gave no acknowledgment. Her big, blank eyes stared a hole into the wall over my shoulder.

"I'm here to find out who did this to you," I continued. "Can you remember anything about what happened?"

I sat tenderly on a stool beside her bed. She was taking slow, deep breaths, in and out, and still refused to look at me, but I didn't press her any more. I knew that oftentimes, the best way to get victims to talk was with silence, letting them take their time. And sure enough, Allison Shepherd began speaking, softly.

"He kept me in a room," she said. "It was empty, except for a bed. He only took off the handcuffs for me to pee. I don't know how long I was there. I tried to count the days, but I started getting confused. He didn't feed me much, just enough to keep me alive so that he could…"

"Allison," I said softly but firmly. "It's okay. You're safe now, and we're going to do everything we can to find this guy. What can you tell me about him?"

The girl sniffled.

"He was tall," she said. "Really tall. And big, but not… big, big… muscular. He was strong. His ears were pierced. I kinda remember his face, but the details are fuzzy…"

"Do you think you could describe him to a forensics artist?" I asked gently. "If we put together a good picture of his face, it would help us find him."

"I…I think so."

I put my palm over hers and squeezed her fingers for encouragement.

"How long ago were you kidnapped?"

She shook her head in frustration.

"Months… I… I think I lost track of the days after a while."

"How did he take you?"

"I was at a bar with my friends," she said. "All I remember was him buying me a drink, and then…"

I nodded, hoping it would encourage her. I wanted to get as many details from her as I possibly could, while they were still fresh in her mind. But she stayed silent.

"What about the place he kept you?" I prompted. "Do you remember anything about it? Where it might be?"

"I… I woke up there, I can't remember how I got there," she started, stuttering. "But, it wasn't too big… wooden floors… like a cabin of some sorts, and probably out in the middle of nowhere, because I never heard anyone outside, and no one ever came by."

"Allison, how did you get away?"

"Two days ago, he let me out to use the bathroom," she said. "Another girl was getting sick in the one I usually used, so he let me in his, upstairs. He forgot there was a window in there, so while he was busy with the other girl, I climbed out. There were bars on it, but he starved me so much I was thin enough to slip through them."

I was awe-stricken with her story, noticing that the dullness in her eyes must be reflecting the numbness that she was feeling.

"And then what happened?"

"I stayed up on the roof for a few hours, while he looked for me," she answered. "And when he gave up, in the middle of the night, I climbed down and just started running."

"Where did you go?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I was tired and hungry and dizzy, but I told myself to just keep running. I had to get away. I can't… I can't remember the details but… I remember a car stopping and… I must have gotten in."

She looked at me with teary eyes.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.

"It's okay," I said gently. "You're doing so well. And you're safe now. We're not going to let anyone else hurt you. We'll find the man who did this to you."

Allison nodded appreciatively as I glanced at the notes I'd taken so far. She hadn't given much on the details of her kidnapper or her place of imprisonment. But one thing jumped out at me as I read back through her testimony.

"Allison," I began slowly. "You said there was another girl there with you… was this man keeping many women? Was he… preparing to sell you into an industry of some sort?"

"I don't know," she whispered again. "There was at least one other. Maybe more. I don't know what he planned to do with us. I think he just liked being able to do whatever he wanted with me. I think that's what… e-excited him."

"But you never saw the other girl?"

"No," Allison said softly. "I never saw her, we were kept in separate rooms. Sometimes I heard her though, when he was with her. She probably heard me, too. It was a comfort just knowing I wasn't there alone, but… there wasn't any way to get her when I ran away. It was my only chance."

"I understand," I said. "No one is blaming you for anything. It's just, if there's another girl still there with him, we need to find her before he does something to hurt her."

"You need to find her as soon as you can," Allison pleaded. "He had a temper, and I'm sure he's taking losing me out on her."

"In that case… would you mind seeing the forensic artist now?" I asked hopefully. "I know you've been through a lot, but we may have only a small window of time to find her…"

"Yes," Allison answered, boldness in her voice for the first time since we'd been speaking. "Yes. I'll do it now. Please, you just have to find her. It's… he's…"

"It's okay," I assured her. "Like I said, you're safe now. I'm going to leave for a moment, but this officer will stay with you, okay?"

"Okay."

I smiled at her encouragingly and stepped into the hall, pressing my back against the wall. It was only towards the end of Allison's testimony that a sudden thought struck my mind, and now, my heart was pounding against my chest. What if the other victim Allison heard was Sara? It was a long shot, and I didn't want to jump to any conclusions. But Sara was still on my mind constantly, and I couldn't help but hold on to the slim possibility that her and Allison's cases were related.

I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial.

"Jim, I need a forensics artist at Desert Palm a.s.a.p.," I said.

"Geez, Gil, where's the fire?"

"This could be an eventual search and rescue," I said, remembering his words from earlier and holding back my theory for now. "Just get someone here."

It was impressive how fast the police could move when rallied. The artist arrived within the hour, and I stood calmly by Allison's bedside while she described the face of her kidnapper and attacker to her. She had a hard time – broke down at several points – but she came through in the end, and the real fear in her eyes when she looked at the final product told me that the artist had gotten it right.

I took the picture and faxed it to Jim, who sent it to P.D., who put an alert out over every frequency and to every news station. I processed Allison, but then headed straight back to the lab, hoping that by the time I got there, we'd have a lead. No such luck.

"Nothing yet, Gil," Jim said when he saw me, noticing the anxiously excited look on my face.

"What?" I exclaimed. "How? The alert has been out for –"

"An hour," Jim finished. "Give it time."

I tried to stay calm, but inside, I was reeling. I was going to give it thirty minutes before I took to the streets and started hunting down this guy myself, but to my surprise and relief, I didn't even have to wait that long. A caller who had recognized the picture on the news had dialed the hotline, saying that the picture looked eerily like her neighbor.

A cavalcade of police cars, sirens blaring, made their way to the address of the caller's neighbor. After no answer at the front door, uniforms busted their way in… only to clear the scene.

"There's nobody home, sir," a uniform told Jim.

Jim looked at me, expecting to see disappointment in my eyes, but there was none to be found. My fire had flamed up again, and I was _certain _that there was something, anything, here that would lead us to whomever it was that kidnapped Allison. Jim and I were just beginning to process the body and the house when Catherine called. She was at the lab, doing background checks and research on the R.O. of the house.

"His name is Thomas Moore, and he's an English teacher at WLVU," she said.

"Allison's a graduate student there," I noted. "That must be where they ran into each other."

"He's the registered owner of a Chevy," she continued. "I'll have PD put out a broadcast for it."

"It doesn't look like he's been here in months," I said, noting the thick layer of dust everywhere. "And there's no evidence that he kept Allison here. No hairs, no blood, no marks at all."

I stilled, suddenly feeling that we were in the wrong place. Allison was found along Route 564, almost in the middle of nowhere. And this house – smack in the middle of residential Vegas – was nothing like the deserted isolation Allison described.

On the other end of the line, I heard Catherine flip through the stack of papers she had printed.

"Gil."

"What?" I asked, stopping dead in my tracks at the urgency in her voice.

"He owns property up near Lake Mead."

And the Calvary was off. It was a web of phone calls on our way there – Catherine called Nick to get to the hospital and get Allison to tell him any details she could about the house. Nick relayed them to Jim, who shouted directions to the head of the rescue brigade. The line of police cars pulled to a roaring stop in front of a two-story wooden house, so old and worn down, I'd have thought it to be abandoned. Uniforms rushed ahead and pounded on the door.

"LVPD, open up!"

When no answer came, they burst through the doorway and were met with gunfire. Jim and I ducked behind the cars we were waiting next to, but it was over in seconds. Thomas Moore's one shotgun was no match for the LVPD.

"He's dead," one of the officers called.

"First floor's clear," another shouted from deeper within the house.

Before Jim could say a word to me, I barged into the house, past Thomas Moore's body laying at the entrance to a shabby looking kitchen, and up crooked stairs. I frantically peeked in every door in the hallway, each only revealing empty, dilapidated rooms, many stained with what looked like dried blood, until only one remained. I pushed the door open, and there, handcuffed to a grungy-looking mattress in the middle of the room, was a still, starved and half-broken version of the girl whose picture I had become so well acquainted with in the last eight weeks.

Sara Sidle.


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N: **Happy Halloween! I'm lame and not doing anything, but we had to dress up at work last weekend and I was Hermione because the costume cost me a total of zero dollars! Again, I'm lame. I hope you all have more exciting plans and better costumes than me!

Also, did you know ILoveJorja is awesome? It's true. She is.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Six<br>_

_It was a blur from there. Running to her. Searching for a pulse. Calling paramedics. Riding to the hospital. Losing her pulse. Watching her fight. Watching her lose. Losing her._

_ "We tried, Gil," Jim said solemnly. "We just… we got here too late." _

_ "I had two months to find her, Jim," I told him. "Two months, and for those two months, she was lying there, dying. It's my fault." _

_ "It's not." _

_ He tried pulling me away from Sara's bedside, but I wouldn't budge. Catherine, Nick, Warrick, they had all tried to do the same in the last few hours, but I wouldn't go. I had never spoken to this girl, never seen her alive and well, and yet, I felt like I knew her as an old friend. Like somehow we were connected and were meant to cross paths. It was just my fault that they crossed too late. _

_ She was still beautiful, her hair a mess of brown tangles and her skin so soft and smooth. But she was too pale, cold, and her eyes were hidden beneath closed lids, dark eyelashes fanned against her skin. I could sit there forever, as if waiting for her to awake from slumber, the prince to her sleeping beauty. _

_ "We have to go," Jim repeated, trying again in vain to pull me away. "We have to go. We have to –"_

I awoke with a start, sweating and breathless. It took a few moments to recollect where I was – not in my townhouse or at the lab, but at Desert Palm Hospital, on a bench in the stark-white hallway. I sat up slowly, feeling a little discombobulated and my back groaning with protest to my impromptu nap. I took a few seconds to look up and down the hall. It was quiet, not a nurse or doctor in sight. A soft, steady beeping came from the room a few feet away from me. I stood up slowly, inching towards the door, a nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach. I peeked into the room, holding my breath. Sara _was _lying in the bed, but there was one small difference between her and my dream Sara.

She was awake.

I slowly let out my breath in relief, feeling the knots in my stomach beginning to untangle. Sara was peering at me.

"Hi."

"Hi," I said back, inching my way into her room.

She cleared her throat, her voice scratchy and raw.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up," she said.

"I… oh," I managed, glancing back at the bench. Sara had a clear view of it from where she lay in her bed. "How long was I out?"

"A good couple of hours," she said. "At least since I woke up."

Her eyes darted away, embarrassed and shy, and in those few seconds, I looked her up and down. She had just as many bruises on her as Allison Shepherd, black and menacing-looking against her pale skin. Her right arm was in a cast and she was connected by wires to several machines, one of them an IV, another monitoring her heartbeat. She looked exhausted and fragile. She was pale, and very thin, but she was alive.

I found myself smiling at her, but as I did so, I realized that while I may have felt like I knew this girl as if she were an old friend, she had no idea who I was. She had no idea how much her case had obsessed and intrigued me. Her eyes wandered back to me, and I gestured to the chair sitting near her bedside.

"May I?" I asked.

She nodded hesitantly.

"I'm Gil Grissom," I said, softly. "CSI."

"Sara Sidle," she whispered.

"I, um… I'm really glad you're okay," I said tentatively. "Well, relatively speaking."

Sara only nodded again, and I felt the nervousness creeping back. I wondered if she would rather be alone, whether she wanted me to leave. The thought made my stomach drop. I was so glad to finally see her – alive – that I didn't want to leave. Not yet.

"How are you feeling?" I asked softly.

She looked up at me, our eyes locking. She took a couple deep breaths.

"I…" she began, searching for words.

"It's okay," I interrupted. "I, uh, I interviewed another girl who was kidnapped by the same man, Thomas Moore. I… I know you've been through a lot. I'll, um, I'll let you get some rest."

I started to rise from my seat.

"I talked to your friend Jim," she interrupted me in that same quiet voice. "While you were sleeping. W-when I gave him my statement, he told me everything you've been doing these past weeks to find me. I… thank you."

Her words were strong, but her voice was shaky, and she had tears building in her eyes. I sat back down.

"You're welcome, honey."

The endearment slipped out, and it surprised me as much as it did her. I had no idea what this girl was to me, but it was obvious that she meant something to me. I cared for her. I hoped it showed. I wanted to make her feel safe, to let her know that nothing else was going to happen to her.

"No… nobody's ever not given up on me before," she said, her voice trembling even more. "Why didn't you?"

"I… I don't know," I admitted. "There was just something about you… you were smart and careful, you wouldn't have fallen into an easy trap. And it would have been a tragedy to lose somebody with so much… life."

For the slightest second, a shadow of relief passed over Sara's face. Though she was trembling, she looked comforted that somebody had cared for her while she was gone. That someone wouldn't give up on her so easily. I reached out to cover her fingers with my palm. As I did, she flinched, and the anxiety returned to her features. I felt immediately guilty, and became truly and fully aware of the hell she had just survived. She had a long road of recovery ahead of her, and as much as I wished I could be there to help her, to discover more about this unexplainable connection I felt to her, I knew that was not my place.

My mind raced, wondering what in the world I should say or do next, while the silence lingered between us. Eventually, I took my wallet from my pocket, pulled out a business card and placed it against a vase of flowers with a card that read "Love, Michael".

"If… if you need anything," I began. "_Anything_… please, don't hesitate to call me. The next few weeks will be… well, if you need a friend…"

"Thanks," she cut in softly. She lifted her gaze to mine once again, and in our eye contact, I felt my pulse quicken. She looked away swiftly. "Thanks."

"Feel better soon, Sara," I murmured.

I left, closing the door to her room quietly behind me. She looked sad and scared and small, alone in her bed, and I couldn't help but hope that, even though I was virtually a stranger to her, she would call.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere that greeted me when I stepped thorough the doors of the lab was a complete turnaround from the one I'd just left at the hospital. The whole team was waiting for me, big smiles on their faces.<p>

"Well done, Griss, I knew you'd crack it," Warrick said, slapping me on the back.

"How's the girl?" Nick asked.

"She's… okay," I replied. "Worse for the wear and exhausted, but she's okay."

I turned to Jim.

"I heard you talked to her."

He nodded.

"I took her statement," he said. "She's one tough cookie."

"She told me… you told her about how I kept opening her case."

"I thought she deserved to know."

I nodded my appreciation and turned to Catherine.

"Thanks for all your help, Cath," I said. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Any time," she said, winking at me.

"Well, party's over, cause we have more cases to crack and more bad guys to find," Jim said, handing out case slips to Catherine, Warrick, Nick and Holly.

"Where's mine?" I asked as they filed out, one by one.

"I thought you deserved a night off," Jim said. "You had one heck of a day yesterday."

"Jim, I—"

"We're covered, Gil," he said. "Go home. Take a nap. Lord knows you haven't had one in months."

He trooped out behind Nick's retreating back and Catherine was the only one left in the room. She was hanging in the corner, looking reluctant to say whatever it was she had stayed behind to say.

"Gil, I, uh, have something for you," she began. "If you want it, I mean."

"Catherine, we've discussed this before," I said in a mock serious tone. "No PDA in the lab."

"Ha ha Mr. Joke Man," she cracked back. "It's… Sara's file. Jim was the one who took her statement, but I was the one who processed her. He thought it'd be better if… well, a female were the one to do it. Especially after what she'd just been through."

I stared at her.

"The case is closed, I know that, I just… didn't really see you letting her drop out of your life, not after all the time and effort you put into finding her. So I just… if you want to know what happened to her, it's here. If not… no harm done. Just put the file back where it belongs."

She put the manila folder on the glass table of the break room and walked out without another word. I raised and lowered my coffee mug to my lips a few times, never taking my eyes off the file and thinking about Catherine's words. If it were up to me, I _wouldn't_ let her drop out of my life. Something about Sara Sidle intrigued me, and I wanted to find out just what it was that kept drawing me to her.

Of course, it wasn't up to me. I'd done my job, done all that I could for Sara, and what came next lay in her tired, bruised hands.

After several more minutes of sitting and staring at the file, I decided that I was just being ridiculous. I made the executive decision to take it home with me. It was just a case, I told myself. A case like many others I had worked and solved. Professionally speaking, there was no reason for me to treat this file different than any other.

So I went home. I showered, because I couldn't remember the last time I did so, ate, because my stomach told me I should, and gave my best attempt to sleep. Even though I tossed and turned for the better part of an hour, I eventually fell into a deep sleep, and when I awoke, I had to admit I felt a hundred times better. I reached across to the nightstand, where Sara's file was placed beside my alarm clock. I pulled it towards me.

Words and sentences jumped out at me as I read.

_I was thrown in a van and the driver started laughing. Everything was spinning. I remember him saying, "I can't believe we got away with this again". I blacked out… _

_ The house was stifling hot, but sometimes he kept piles of blankets on me, knowing that I wouldn't be able to move them, with my hands chained up by my head. He gave me food about once every few days. I must have lost consciousness at least a dozen times…_

_ He'd come in and have a look in his eye. And I knew that it was going to be horrible. The only thing I could do was close my eyes and wait for it to be over. There's a history of abuse in my family. I felt like I was seven years old again, scared and helpless…_

_ One day, a day or so ago, he came in so furious that he just started beating on me. He hit me until my jaw stung and my eye swelled up so much that I couldn't see. I had no idea why…_

_ The only thing that got me through was the knowledge that someone would use forensics to nail him. He was not going to get away with this._

I stopped to catch my breath. The sentences were only glimpses of what she had endured; the entire picture was horribly repulsive.

The next set of papers was Jim's thick files on every interrogation and lead we had followed preceding Sara's rescue. At the bottom, was Catherine's report. Again, words leapt out.

_Broken ribs…_

_ Fractured tailbone…_

_ Sprained wrist…_

_ Extensive bruising…_

_ Mild concussion… _

_ Extensive trauma due to repeated sexual abuse. _

I sank back into my pillows, closing my eyes and picturing how bruised and broken Sara had looked lying in her hospital bed.

The first thing I wanted to do was head back to the hospital. But I knew that wasn't an option. Though Sara had been in my dreams, my nightmares and my thoughts constantly for the last two months, to her, I was only the investigator who found her. She had no emotional connection to me, save for her gratitude. She had friends, those who have known her for much, much longer than I had caring about her. She had doctors to help her. She didn't need me. Not now.

I dropped my head into my hands, kneading my temples with a few fingers. _Why _did this case feel so different from the many others? Why did I feel, despite the victim being rescued alive, that there was still so far to go?

I shook my head, reached for my jacket and shoes, and left my house, hoping that a long walk and fresh air would clear my head.

The most I could do was wait for her to heal, and go from there.


	8. Chapter Seven

**A/N: **Hi all! I meant to post this earlier in the day, like I usually do, but today was my first at a new job and it was a LONG day. So my apologies for this being later than usual. Also, wish me luck on day two, because it will be election day here in Iowa, and it'll be nothing but craziness!

I think you will all enjoy this chapter :)

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Seven<em>

It was hard to say things went back to normal after that. Although life at the lab carried on like normal for everyone else, life felt different to me. I felt different.

I was _still _thinking about Sara. When I wasn't working or sleeping, I was thinking about her. About how she was doing, how she was recovering, and whether she was thinking of me at all too.

I was confusing myself. It was so _unlike _me. Usually cases were so cut and dry – gather evidence, solve the puzzle and move on. Use reason and logic and keep all emotions and empathy at bay as best as possible. This case was just _different_, and it was messing up my system. Maybe it was because the victim was rescued instead of becoming another DB on our table. Or maybe it was Sara. Whatever it was, it had my mind turning.

I didn't hear from Sara all that week. And though I was constantly busy with my caseload, I still always found the time to check my missed calls, just in case.

And as if I didn't have enough on my mind, life dealt me another hand of wild cards. A particularly nasty round lab politics had uprooted Jim as the leader of the grave shift. He was moved back to PD – his old position when he was in Jersey – and I was the most obvious choice to fill his shoes. So all of a sudden, my bugs and experiments were moved into the big office and I had a team of four CSIs reporting to me. I guess I should have seen my promotion as flattering, but in all honesty, it was overwhelming. Though I considered myself a good CSI, I was never good at diplomacy and didn't consider myself a particularly shrewd leader. I knew that I would learn as I went, but at that moment, it felt like a tremendous challenge.

When yet _another _week passed without a word from Sara, I started to worry just a little. I wracked my brain for any excuse to call her, until I reasoned that – as the lead CSI on her case – I had an invested interest in her recovery, and I caved and called her floor at Desert Palm. They told me she was still there, recovering and talking to the hospital psychiatrist until she was cleared for release. I felt relieved to know that she was at least still in town, and hadn't left for home without calling.

I didn't know exactly what it was that I was waiting to hear about… she hadn't made any promises to call, and I could hardly expect her to. There was just that darn _something_ that kept pulling me back to her…

Two weeks and three days after Sara's rescue, I finally had the willpower to keep her from my thoughts, at least for a few hours. I was at a scene, crouched over the body of a man in perfect health, other than the fact that he was dead, of course, with no indication as to how he died, when my phone rang. I expected it to be any number of people, it seemed like my phone had been ringing off the hook since Jim's move and my subsequent promotion. So I sighed, flipped it open, and answered with my usual 'Grissom'.

"Grissom… Gil, uh, hi, it's, um, Sara," said the voice. "Sara Sidle. I was –"

"I remember you, Sara," I said. Understatement of the century. "How are you doing?"

"I'm… better," she said hesitantly. "Better."

"I'm glad."

"I, uh, I hope it's okay that I called," she continued. "I'm out of the hospital tomorrow morning, and I… just wanted to thank you – again – for everything."

"You're welcome," I said sincerely.

The pause between us stretched into silence. The man with the doctorate degree had a problem stringing two words together, and I had no idea what to say next. Nick, across the body from me, looked up from his work to stare at me in confusion.

"Who is it?" he mouthed.

Instead of answering, I turned my back to him, cupping my hand around my mouth.

"Are you still there?" I asked her, willing myself to have the courage to say what was coming next.

"Y-yeah," came her response. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"What would you say to going to dinner with me?" I said quickly, wanting the words to get out before I could rethink speaking them. "Before you head home. I… I'd like to see you before you leave. If – if you want to."

She paused again, and my breath caught in my throat. I was about to let her off the hook – and apologize – when her voice came from the other line, soft and emotional.

"Sure."

"I…" I trailed off. I wanted to ask, '_really?_', but to avoid sounding like a fourteen-year-old boy asking the head cheerleader to homecoming, I caught myself. "Your friend Michael… will you be going to his place when you leave tomorrow?"

"Yeah… yeah, I am."

"I remember where it is," I said carefully. "Is it okay if I pick you up? Around seven?"

"That—yeah. That's… good."

"Okay," I said warmly. "I'll see you then."

I shut the phone and looked at Nick.

"Sara?" he said in awe.

"Sara," I confirmed. "We're going to dinner."

"You have a _date_?"

"It's not a date, Nicky, it's…" I said, waving him off, but not knowing how to finish. I didn't know _what _it was. "It's just dinner."

"Yeah, well, I never took any victims out to dinner. Just sayin'," he said as he went back to retrieving the vic's wallet from where it was shoved. It was not in his pocket, by the way.

"I don't want you thinking of her as a victim, Nick," I said in my supervisor tone. "She's a person, and a soon-to-be scientist to boot. Just like us. I'm sure she'd hate always being thought of as the girl who was kidnapped."

"You talk about her like she's going to be around here a while," Nick observed, wrinkling his nose at the smell our corpse's wallet was letting off. "I remember reading in her files that she's not even done with school yet. She'll probably be going home soon, right?"

"I know," I said simply, before pointing at the wallet in his hand. "Bag that."

Nick bagged the wallet, initialed the seal and looked back at me, staring.

"What?" I asked after several moments of pointed silence.

"Well…" Nick began, sounding like he was trying to tread carefully. "It's just that… everyone is _always_ on my case about getting too close to the victims and their families. And I do, I know that. But now you're doing it too… and nobody's calling you out on it."

"Is that what you're doing?" I asked with a hint of a smirk. "Calling me out?"

"Well… yeah," Nick admitted. "I just don't want you to wind up in a mess."

"I appreciate your concern," I said courteously.

Nick shook his head smiling absentmindedly.

"What is it about this girl that has you all wound in circles?"

I shrugged in response.

"I mean, I've never seen you like this about a case," he continued.

"She's not a case, Nick, she's a—"

"A person, yeah, I know," Nick finished. "But what makes her so special?"

"Exactly."

Nick blinked.

"What?"

"She's special."

* * *

><p>Though I had sworn up and down and left and right that my dinner with Sara was <em>not <em>a date, I sure took a long time picking out the shirt that I was going to wear on my not-date with her. And that was a detail that I would never ever want Nick to know. I drove to her friend Michael's place and knocked on the door, anxious to see her again and hoping that she was doing better.

The woman that answered the door was physically a completely different woman than the one I had spoken to in a hospital bed two weeks ago. Her wrist still had a brace on it, and I was guessing that, under her blouse, her ribs were still taped up, but her face had more color and the bruises and scrapes that had adorned her from head to toe were almost completely faded.

Emotionally, she looked as anxious as I felt, stuck somewhere between curiosity and apprehension. I wondered, not for the first time, whether this was a good idea.

"Sara," I said with a small smile. "You look… great."

"I'm getting there," she said, trying to return my smile. "Michael left for work already, so… we can… go, if you want."

I lead her to my car and we took off, halted conversation accompanying us along the way. It was tricky. I wanted to ask how she was recovering, but I didn't want to come close to referencing her ordeal. I wanted to be one of the ones who helped her move past it, not drag her right back to it.

I took her to a restaurant off the strip, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. It was a small, family-owned Italian diner, where the staff knew each of their customers, and they recognized me as soon as we walked in.

"Ah, Mr. Grissom, welcome back," the host said. "Mr. Sullivan will be happy to see you!"

He led us to a table for two, and not too long after, Mr. Sullivan, the owner, stopped by with some complimentary brushetta and a sample of wine. I knew the place would be a good choice, and the lively atmosphere confirmed it. Sara looked just a little more relaxed by the time we were left alone with our menus.

"I'm glad you called," I told her. "I've been… thinking about you."

She studied me for a moment, as if considering how to reply.

"This isn't exactly protocol," she said, with just the tiniest hint of tease creeping into her tone.

"No," I smiled shyly. "But I'm not here in a professional capacity."

"What are you here as?"

"A friend."

I smiled at her, and much to my surprise and delight, she gave me a small smile back.

"I could use one of those," she admitted. "So… tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"About you."

And so I did. And suddenly, it wasn't uncomfortable or uneasy between us at all. I found myself enjoying talking as she listened intently, and I grew more and more surprised as the words flowed freely. I told her about growing up a science geek, performing autopsies on dead animals I found in the neighborhood. I told her about working in Minnesota, and Chicago, and then finally coming to Vegas. I told her about my team, how skilled they each were and what wonderful potential they had. I talked right until our plates of steaming pasta were placed in front of us.

And eventually, as I told her I'd way surpassed my words limit for the night, she started opening up a little too. She told me how she too grew up a science geek, about going to Harvard and studying physics there. She told me about how she came to the decision to move back to California for grad school and how a guest lecturer with a concentration in forensics had inspired her to check it out. She told me about the fascination she had with the field, how she thought it was a daring and selfless profession and how she wanted to work to find justice for others.

I found myself intrigued with her smile – something her school ID picture didn't do justice and something I did not see to its full potential during my visit at the hospital. Her mention of forensics directed the conversation to the craziest things I'd seen and the most bizarre cases I'd worked. She listened to me with bright eyes and that wide, wide smile. She interrupted every story I told, right before the ending, with her own guess on how the case concluded. She was right every time, and I had to admit, I was impressed.

I leaned back in my chair after she finished my last story for me, wondering how in the world she could have guessed it was the football player's coach who killed four members of the team.

"I think you'll be a great investigator, Sara," I said honestly. "I can tell."

"How?" she asked.

"I've been in this field longer than I'd care to admit," I answered. "Probably since about the time you were still in elementary school. It takes a certain… something… to be a good CSI, and… you have it."

She gave me the widest, most genuine smile I had seen from her all evening, and I felt a warmth spreading to my extremities. In those few seconds, I caught a glimpse of the real Sara. And I found myself smiling too.

"So what's next?" I asked her.

"Well," she said slowly, staring at her spaghetti. "I have just a few weeks until graduation. I'm… a little behind in my classes, but I can probably make it up."

She raised her gaze to look at me.

"I'm going back to California tomorrow."

"You're ready to go back?" I asked carefully. "I mean, you're… okay?"

Her smile faded a little, and I could see her face harden as she put on a brave front.

"I'm okay," she replied. "I've been taught to be a survivor. And nothing gets me back on my feet faster than being motivated and busy. I need to finish school, get my degree and get in the field as soon as I can. I know that's what will make me happy."

"Where do you want to work?"

"I'm not sure. I've checked into the San Francisco lab. They've told me that with my references, I can probably get a entry-level job there."

I watched her twirl her pasta and was struck with an insane, yet thrilling, idea. What if Sara came to work _here_ – in Vegas – with me, at my lab? What if tonight, this dinner, didn't have to be the last time I could stare at her smile and listen to her speak. I debated whether I should tell her what I was thinking, but before I could, she changed the subject and we talked about favorite old movies of ours until Mr. Sullivan brought our check. I walked her to my car and we drove back to Michael's. I pulled into his driveway and shifted the car into park.

"Thank you," she said again. "For all of this. And for everything you did for me. I… I probably wouldn't—"

"Don't," I stopped her. "Don't let yourself think like that. You were meant to survive and you did. You are an amazing individual, Sara."

She beamed at me through her tears and I wondered how to appropriately conclude our non-date. After all, she was going back home tomorrow, and chances were just as good that I'd never see her again. What do you say to a person you care so much about?

"Listen, you have my e-mail, right?" I asked softly, referring to the card I had given to her weeks earlier. "Keep in touch, okay? Let me know how you're doing, and if there's anything I can do for you. Anytime. Okay?"

She nodded, eyes glistening.

"Okay."

She reached for the door, but at the last minute, leaned over the console between us and wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug. She caught me by surprise, but I put an arm around her, trying to express to her that she was safe, that I was still there for her. She pulled away dry-eyed and looking revived.

She slid out of the car and shut the door behind her. I don't know if it was emotion or desperation welling in me as I watched her walk away that made me call out after her, or what, but I did.

"Hey, Sara?"

She turned.

"You know, y-you could probably get a job here, in my lab," I said. "You wouldn't have to start in the coroner's office or anything, we could get you to start as a CSI level one."

Sara stared at me in surprise.

"I… really?"

"I pull a little weight there," I said, winking. "A recommendation from me could go a long way."

When she remained silent, I urged her a little.

"What do you think?"

"I… I don't know," she finally admitted. "It's… it's a great opportunity, it's just…"

"What?" I asked softly.

"Vegas holds nothing but bad memories for me," she said. "I'm afraid that if I came back here, it'd do nothing but haunt me. That what happened to me here… would be all I could think about."

I didn't know what to say after that. I had gotten so ahead of even myself that I hadn't even considered her feelings. It would take a strong soul to ignore the demons that haunted them, and though I could tell Sara was no delicate flower, she was still recovering, and returning here could be the worst thing for her.

"I understand, honey," I said, the endearment slipping out again. Sara looked less surprised and more comforted at it this time.

"You need to do whatever is best for you," I continued. "But just know that, if you need one, a job will always be here for you."

"Thank you," she whispered. "I appreciate it, I really do. I… I'll think about it."

It was the best I could hope for right now. I nodded at her and smiled softly.

"Take care, Sara."

"Bye, Gil."

And with that, she turned away again and entered Michael's house. The small smile on her face as she waved goodbye and closed the front door was the last image I'd have of her for a long time. I didn't want to let her go, but it was not my place. Spending time with her had made certain things clear and other things even more confusing. There _was _something between us. What that something was, I still didn't know, but after our conversation that night, I knew it was more than physical. I liked the way she thought. There was _something_.

I just wondered if she felt it too.


	9. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

* * *

><p><em>To: ggrisom. lvpd .<em>_gov  
><em>

_From: ssidle. berkeley. edu  
><em>

Gil,

I am celebrating the full use of both my wrists by writing this email. I went to the doctor today to take off the last of my bandages and casts, and I'm finally as good as new.

I apologize for being out of touch since I left Vegas, it's been busy trying to sort my life out back here. My professors have been nothing but understanding, they are all concerned and many of them offered to personally help me catch up on the work I missed. As long as I keep my nose to the grindstone 24/7 for the next few weeks, I should be able to graduate on time.

How have you been? Saving more lives and cracking more cases, I assume? I realized after I left that I never gave you any of my contact information. It is all attached here. Feel free to use it.

I hope you're well,

Sara

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ssidle. berkeley. edu<em>_

_From: _ggrisom. lvpd .__gov__

Sara,

It was so good to hear from you, and I'm glad to hear you seem to be doing well. I can't believe that this time in two months, you'll be graduated and ready to begin your career.

Things here at the lab have been hectic, as usual. I've been permanently made supervisor for the Grave shift (it was a temporary promotion before) and it's been overwhelming and exciting all at once. Although I'm not really used to being "the boss", I love working with my team more than ever.

However, there's been some talk of having to let our most rookie CSI, Holly, go. She's been slipping in her field work, missing obvious pieces of evidence, neglecting to follow-up on leads and turning in sloppy reports. It's a shame, she had been improving. It seems like she doesn't have the fire for the job that the rest of us do. I don't want to have to let her go, but in the end, it's my call.

_Strangers on a Train_ was on T.V. yesterday, I watched it after shift. It made me think of you. There's an old theatre here that shows classic movies, I bet you'd love it.

Hope you're well. Write soon.

-Gil

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ggrisom. lvpd .<em>_gov__

_From: _ssidle. berkeley. edu__

Gil,

I'm sorry to hear about Holly. What do you think you're going to do? I can't imagine that you'll make anything but the best decision.

Funnily enough, I think I watched _Strangers on a Train_ at the same time you did. We must have some sort of cross-country ESP. All my friends think it's weird that I never go see new movies, but how can you beat the classics? Losing myself in a black and white is how I blow off steam, forget reality for a while, even if it's only ninety minutes.

Only one month and counting until graduation, I can't believe it. I've been in school for so long, it'll be strange actually being able to choose what I want to do. I'm ready for it.

Take care,

Sara

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ssidle. berkeley. edu<em>_

_From: _ggrisom. lvpd .__gov__

Sara,

I had to talk to Holly today. I didn't make any sort of decision yet, but I let her know that she's on a pseudo-probation. If her work doesn't improve, I'll have to let her go. As much as I do like her, she's compromising the integrity of the lab. I guess it's do or die time now, time to find out if she's really passionate about what she does.

Graduation in T-minus two weeks… any idea of what you'll do after?

Best,

Gil

p.s. I ride roller coasters to blow off steam. There's nothing like a drop in your stomach and the rattle of an old coaster to help me forget.

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ggrisom. lvpd .<em>_gov__

_From: _ssidle. berkeley. edu__

Gil,

Graduation is tomorrow. I have an offer from the lab here in Frisco, but I can't decide whether or not I want to stay. I do like California, but I'm ready for a change. Why must real life be so complicated? I'm split on everything. I'm partly so nervous, but partly excited. Like I told you, keeping busy is what keeps me going.

Perhaps I'll just stay in school for the rest of my life and attain a Guinness World Record for most degrees achieved.

Love,

Sara

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ssidle. berkeley. edu<em>_

_From: _ggrisom. lvpd .__gov__

Sara,

A Guinness World Record in your name would be great, but it doesn't quite pay the bills.

And speaking of real life, the decision is always yours, but my offer still stands, if you want it.

Love,

Gil

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ggrisom. lvpd .<em>_gov__

_From: _ssidle. berkeley. edu__

Gil,

I am graduated. Done. Finiteo. It feels… strange.

I'm giving myself two weeks to figure out what I want to do. After that, I need to let the SF lab know regarding their job offer. Is two weeks long enough to figure out my future?  
>Love,<p>

Sara

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ssidle. berkeley. edu<em>_

_From: _ggrisom. lvpd .__gov__

Sara,

I don't want to be too forward, but I have more days off saved up than everyone else in the lab combined. What would you say about me coming to visit you for a few days during your decision weeks? I'm good with logic. Maybe two brains together can decide what to do with your life.

-Gil

* * *

><p><em>To: <em>ggrisom. lvpd .<em>_gov__

_From: _ssidle. berkeley. edu__

Gil,

I'd say send me your flight information, and I'll pick you up.

-S


	10. Chapter Nine

_Chapter Nine_

I'd never out rightly lied to my team before. I told them I was taking four days off to go to L.A. and meet up with an old colleague from Minnesota. Of course, I was actually going to San Francisco, to see Sara. I'm wasn't exactly sure why I lied to them, they likely wouldn't have judged, but I was too afraid of the possibility of seeing raised eyebrows, hearing doubts and having misgivings about whether I should be going at all.

But I was excited to see her. I couldn't help but notice her e-mails had become increasingly more relaxed, personal. We'd joked, flirted, even. Our relationship was much less casual acquaintances and much more personal. I hoped she saw me as an equal now, not someone to whom she was indebted to.

When I landed in San Francisco, she met me at baggage claim. She had on jeans and a free-flowing blouse, and she looked so much more like the girl in the picture I had carried around for two months than the one I had seen for the first time chained to a bed. Any marks or bruises that would have betrayed the ordeal she had survived had long faded. She looked every bit the happy, healthy, beautiful young woman. She smiled when she saw me, and gave me a loose hug as we approached.

"Hi," she said into my ear.

"Hi, Sara."

We fell quickly into the comfortable camaraderie we had managed to achieve during our dinner together. I realized how much I appreciated her wit and her charm, something that while still present in her e-mails, was much more enjoyable in person. She drove me to her apartment to drop off my bags, with the promise of going right back out again for dinner and sightseeing.

"My apartment's really not that great, it's tiny, actually, but I've slept on the couch before, so it'll be fine," she said, rushing on before I could interrupt. "And I'm a horrible cook, so prepare to eat out while you're here. I—"

"Sara," I stopped her softly. "You don't have to put me up. Take me to whichever hotel is nearest you, I don't want to impose."

She shot me a look that reminded me of how very young she was.

"Not a chance," she countered. "It's the least I can do."

"Sara," I said. "You don't owe me anything."

She paused for a moment, looking at me from out of the corner of her sunglasses.

"I know."

But I could tell she didn't believe it. She still wanted to make up for all the work I'd put into finding her. I wanted to tell her that it was my job, all that work, but I didn't want to belittle how much she meant to me. I let it slide.

Her apartment was tiny, but it was so very Sara, large pieces of quirky artwork hung on the small walls, a purple couch with bright orange pillows and a bookshelf that looked like it might burst from all the volumes it contained. We really were there only briefly, just to drop off my things, and we were off, eating dinner at a Chinese place near the Golden Gate Bridge, and then walking around the shops and stores. Sara told me about the job offer from the SFPD, a CSI level one position. I didn't mention anything about her coming to Vegas, not just yet.

"I was thinking maybe we could look around the lab a little, while you're here," she said. "I'd like to get your thoughts."

"Okay."

"Your _unbiased_ thoughts," she clarified.

I crisscrossed my heart with my finger.

"I promise."

She smirked at me while we looked out over the bridge.

"Why do you want me to come to Vegas so badly, anyway?" she asked.

"It would be good for you," I replied. "The lab there… it's top-notch. I don't think you'll get that kind of experience anywhere else."

She turned to face me.

"Is that all?"

I paused before answering, looking her in the eye.

"No," I said softly. "It's no secret that I care about you, Sara. I enjoy your company. I'd like having you around in Vegas."

"In the interest of honesty, I guess I'll say that I like being around you, too," she said, slipping her hand into mine. I stared at our fingers in surprise. "But I still don't know."

"I won't push it, Sara," I said. "I completely understand why living in Vegas would be difficult for you. But know that I will do everything I can to make you feel safe and comfortable. You'll have me there."

I could tell by the smile on her face that I had said the right thing. Moments later, she pulled a digital camera from her purse and asked a passerby to take our picture. I put my arm around her.

She kept her hand in mine as we walked towards the waterfront. The sun was fading and couples all along the beach were strolling hand in hand.

"Have you decided what to do about Holly?" she asked.

"I'm going to have to fire her," I sighed. "I hate to do it, but she promised she'd step it up and it's been nothing but empty words. Her performance lately has been the worst I've seen."

"Why would you start in this field, if you didn't love it?" Sara mused, to herself as much as it was to me. "It's a job that takes dedication."

"She was kind of grandfathered in," I explained. "Her mother is a cop."

"Why did you become a CSI?"

It was a question I'd been asked many times before, but I paused, making sure to give Sara the most honest answer.

"A lot of people would say that it's about the thrill of the chase," I said eventually. "But for me, it's all about the process. It's about finding answers in the most unobvious of spots, picking up the clues that people don't even know they left behind, and putting together even the most difficult of puzzles. It's about getting justice for people who can't get it for themselves."

In the middle of my explanation, we had stopped our stroll and turned to face each other. She was looking at me with respect and admiration, and whether it was the romantic setting or the look in her eyes that made me bend my head towards her lips, I'll never know, but I did. When our noses were just inches apart, she turned her head. Her hand slipped from mine, and my muscles tensed, afraid that I had just made a huge mistake.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just…"

"No, I'm sorry," I corrected softly. "I shouldn't have. I don't want to mess up… whatever it is we have between us. I just really like being around you, Sara. You make me feel… young again."

She smiled again and the tightness in my chest loosened.

"I like being around you, too," she said. "And I don't exactly know where this is going, but… let's just enjoy each other's company. For now. Okay?"

And enjoy each other's company we did. We went back to her apartment and put on a movie that we saw very little of, we talked throughout the entire film. When the credits rolled and we realized we hadn't heard two words of the dialogue, we both burst out laughing. Later, she tried to convince me to take her bed while she slept on the couch, but I wouldn't hear a word of it.

"But you're the guest," she argued.

"In _your_ home," I countered. "You take your bed, Sara, I'll be just fine out here."

"But you're –"

"Too old for the couch?" I joked as I interrupted her. "I may not be as spry as you are, but my back is still just fine."

I placed a firm hand on her shoulder and turned her towards her bedroom.

"I'll be fine."

She left in defeat and I was left standing in her living room, smiling in victory and feeling very, very happy.


	11. Chapter Ten

**A/N: **I hope everyone who celebrated had a wonderful Turkey Day! I spent it working, but we did get a stomach full of food on the company's dime!

I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed up to this point, it means the world to me. The journey for these two is really just beginning :)

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Ten<em>

We spent every hour of the next four days together. We visited all of her favorite spots in town, her favorite beach, her favorite sushi place and saw a movie at a drive-in theater that she loved. We spent an entire day at the California Academy of Sciences, a museum with an aquarium, planetarium and a natural history museum on its grounds. We talked a lot, held hands most all the time, but I didn't try to kiss her again. I did, every once in a while, touch her softly, and she never resisted. I kept my hand on the small of her back when we were in crowded places, sometimes stroked her fingers with my thumb as we held hands, and put a light hand on her knee as we dined together. We were getting to know each other, spending time in each other's company, and I loved every minute of it.

The only place we kept our guard up at was during our visit to the San Francisco lab. I tried my hardest to keep my promise to Sara to be unbiased, but it was difficult. The lab was tiny, not even 14,000 square feet, and was in a converted warehouse in the middle of nowhere. It was miles from the police headquarters, and lacked a lot of the technology we took for granted in Vegas. The employees of the lab were understaffed and underpaid, but overworked, and barely any of them looked happy when we passed by. We met with the lab director, who seemed eager to take Sara on board – who wouldn't, with her mind and qualifications? And to my surprise, Sara seemed just as eager.

When we left, she was nearly bouncing with excitement.

"So?" she asked. "What did you think? Honestly?"

I paused, reluctant.

"Honey, you don't want to work there," I said.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking a little deflated, but still defiant.

"I thought you said you'd be impartial," she said. "You promised… for me."

"I am, Sara, I promise," I said. "I'm looking out for _you_. You don't need to come to Vegas, especially not for me, but you deserve a lab with much better standards. Somewhere that can challenge you."

She stayed silent, chewing her lip in thought.

"Look, no pressure, no strings attached, but why don't you come back to Vegas with me?" I said. "I'll show you around the lab, and you can see what real opportunities exist out there for you. If not there, then at least _somewhere _else. Have you looked at Miami, or New York?"

"No," she admitted softly.

"There are great labs there, too," I encouraged. "Sara, as a professional, completely detached emotionally, my expert opinion is that you're too good for this lab. Go somewhere where your skills can be best utilized. Where you'll be valued, instead of taken advantage of."

She sighed.

"Okay. I'll think about it."

And we didn't mention it the rest of the trip. I never brought up her visiting Vegas with me again, but I knew it was on her mind. We went back to enjoying each other's company, and before we knew it, it was my last night in town. We spent it in her tiny apartment and I cooked a meal for her, a change from all the eating out we'd been doing, and put in another old movie. Yet again, we didn't end up watching a second of it, but for an entirely different reason.

We were sitting very close on her purple sofa, my arm around her shoulders and her hand resting delicately a few inches above my knee. The opening music had barely begun to play before she was turning towards me, leaning into me, and pressing close. Our foreheads touched, our noses touched, and I could feel her breath on my chin. Mere millimeters before our lips touched, I stopped her.

"Sara," I breathed. "Are you sure? I don't want to rush things, I don't want to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me."

That much was true, but I was still unsure, unconvinced that she was ready to take the next step with me.

"Just think about it Sara, I don't want—"

She silenced me by pushing her lips against mine. I felt explosions inside me. It had been a long time since I'd kissed a woman, but I was sure it had never felt like this. Kissing Sara felt like something I was born to do, and once we started, I never wanted to stop.

And we didn't stop, not for three more hours, long after the credits of the movie rolled and the television switched to a black screen. We kissed softly, we kissed with passion. We kissed with her in my lap, and with her stretched on the couch with me above her. Time melted as we kissed, and I never felt so sure of anything in my life.

When we finally did break apart, it was Sara who spoke.

"Come sleep with me tonight," she said, breathless.

"Sara…"

"Just sleep with me," she said. "Nothing has to happen. I just want you near me."

And so I followed her to her bedroom. She changed in the bathroom, and when she came out, in pajama pants and an oversized Harvard t-shirt, she went straight under the sheets to curl up beside me. I pulled her close and we both fell asleep that way, in each other's arms.

Nothing else happened, but it didn't need to. I didn't want it to, not yet. I wanted to do everything right with Sara. I didn't want to mess up what could turn out to be the most beautiful thing to happen to me in my entire life.

When I woke the next morning, Sara was already awake, still in my arms and looking at me softly. I kissed her, and told her 'good morning' in a voice still heavy with sleep.

She bid me good morning as well, but the next thing she said surprised me.

"I want to go to Vegas with you."

It was the start of a beautiful day.

* * *

><p>If Sara held any apprehension about returning to Vegas, she hid it well. I asked her so many times if she was all right, that she resorted to threats if I asked any more. I myself had my doubts, I worried if this was too soon for her, and whether I was still thinking of myself before her, but Sara's ease seemed genuine. She acted no different from how she had my entire trip, and I felt that I finally knew her well enough to discern when she was putting on an act.<p>

She was only staying for the night, so she was staying with me, and we went to the lab almost straight after we landed at McCarran. It was late afternoon, and therefore much too early for my team to be starting their shift, so we walked through the halls of the lab mostly uninterrupted. Sara didn't say much, but I could tell she was impressed. Our lab far outshone the one in San Francisco, and it took little more than a few walks around the halls to discover that there would be infinitely more resources available to her here. I showed her my office, each of the labs, introduced her to several techs and even pointed out the lab director as he walked by.

"And you've met some of my team," I said carefully, knowing what I was referencing. "They start in a few hours… do you want to wait around and meet the rest of them?"

Sara shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes on the DNA lab.

"I don't know."

Her voice was soft, and I allowed my fingers to find hers.

"If it's too much, being here—"

"Maybe just not right now," she said, smiling to reassure me. "But thanks for taking me here. I'm glad I came."

"What do you want to do now?"

"I wouldn't mind a little of your cooking," she teased, squeezing my fingers.

"I have just the thing."

We swung by the grocery store, my place being nearly bare of food after being out of town for almost a week, and I made Sara the best batch of stir-fry I'd ever cooked.

"Much better than take-out," she complimented as we ate.

We put on another movie, it was almost routine, even though we knew we wouldn't end up watching it, and we didn't. We spent the night kissing again, this time on my leather couch than on her purple one, then in my bed. I still didn't push anything, and she seemed grateful for it. In our haste to get her on my flight out of California, she'd forgotten to pack pajamas, so this time, she was clad in just an oversized t-shirt, one of mine, sans the pajama pants. Her long legs were smooth and soft against my skin, and she was curled close against me, her head on my chest.

"What are you thinking?" I whispered into her hair.

"How glad I am that we did this," she answered before propping her head up on her palm to look at me. "And how glad I am to have met you."

She leaned in to kiss me, then settled back down on my chest and fell asleep in my arms. As she slept, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen to us, if she made the decision to not come to Vegas. Now that I had seen how happy I was with her in my life, I was in no way ready to let her go again.

But then again, I was in no position to relocate myself. Any transition to a new lab would certainly be a step down for me. Was I ready and willing to place her above my career? My job had never had such heated competition before. I wasn't used to making sacrifices, and worrying about the feelings of anyone but my own.

I realized that if I kept thinking, and therefore worrying, about it, I'd never sleep, so I eased my mind with the thought of _whatever will be, will be_. And joined Sara in slumber.

* * *

><p>I drove her to the airport the next day for her flight back to Frisco. Uncertainty lingered in the air, just as it did when we parted a few months ago, but this time, we each had so much more at stake. We cared about each other, that much was certain. It was almost as if whichever decision Sara made regarding her career, would also determine what would happen between us. It was an ultimatum that neither of us cared to think too much about.<p>

I kissed her when we parted, not long and slow like we kissed the night before, but it held the same meaning. She promised to call when she landed, and I knew she would. I watched her go, and told myself that grown men didn't cry at airports.


	12. Chapter Eleven

__**A/N:** What is this? Two chapters in one week? I haven't been able to do this for a while, but I got the A-OK from ILJ sooner than I expected, AND I have the morning off work, so... enjoy! :)

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Eleven<em>

For the next week, we didn't talk too much about her decision. I called her every night before shift started to tell her goodnight, and she called me every afternoon to ask how work was, but we avoided the topic we both knew was on our minds. I knew she was under enough stress making her choice; she didn't need pressure or coaxing on my part, too.

_Whatever will be, will be._

One night, about two hours before I was to go to work, and about an hour before I usually called Sara, she called me.

"Hi," I greeted her, surprised. She didn't even take the time to make formalities.

"I want to work in Vegas with you," she said.

"I… what?" I asked, even more surprised. "Honey… are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Sara said firmly. "You're right. I'll be doing my career no favors by staying at the lab here. I want to come."

"But Vegas—"

"Look, I've never dealt with my demons by running from them," Sara interrupted. "Why start now? And besides, I'll have you."

I smiled.

"Of course you will."

"Do you still want me there?"

"Absolutely," I confirmed immediately. "Of course I do. I let Holly go two days ago. The lab's already on my back to find her replacement."

I had, and they were. I told them I had a candidate in mind, but hadn't mentioned Sara by name. I had no doubt that she was well qualified for the job.

"Sara, why don't I go into work early and get the process going?" I suggested. "I'll talk to the lab directors, mention it to Jim in case they need a second opinion, and I'll call you in the morning."

"Okay."

"Bye, honey," I said. "I'll call you."

I left for work right after hanging up with Sara and went straight to the lab director's office. He and the assistant director were both there, and I cut right to the chase, telling them that I had found a suitable replacement for Holly, and wanted to recruit her right away.

They seemed impressed with my rundown of her academics, and requested to see her paperwork. I sent Sara a quick e-mail telling her to fax it over, and returned to the director's office, knowing with unease that I had yet to mention the one thing that could keep Sara from getting a job here.

"Sir, there is just one thing," I began. "She was involved in a case we worked, about two months ago."

"The Sidle case," the director said, catching on quicker than I expected. "She was the kidnap victim you found."

"Yes, sir."

"Is there a conflict of interest here?"

"Not at all," I replied, making a split-second chocie to not bring up whatever sort of relationship we had at the moment. "She's a talented, capable forensic scientist, and if anything, her experience here will make her that much more motivated to bring justice to her cases."

The director stared me down, and I began to wish that I had played better lab politics in the past. It was something that I was usually unconcerned with, but having a good relationship with the director was helpful in situations like these. Especially when the outcome meant so much to me.

"I'll take a look at her paperwork to be sure, but I trust your opinion, Gil," he said. "Just make sure she won't be another Holly, and I'd say it's fine."

My heart leapt with excitement, but I kept my poker face.

"Thank you, sir," I said. "Let me know when you've reached your final decision."

I decided against calling Sara right away, I didn't want to jinx things too early, but when my team congregated in the break room, waiting for the night's assignments, I decided to go ahead and tell them, so they would be prepared.

"There's quite a few cases tonight," I told them as I entered. "We'll be stretched thin to cover them all."

"Man, we _really _need to get another CSI on the team," Warrick said. "Swing and Days are slow-moving in picking up our slack, we've been working twice as hard to do the same amount of work the last two shifts."

"We won't be shorthanded much longer," I told him. "I found a replacement for Holly."

"You did?" Warrick said, surprised at my swiftness.

"Who is it?" Nick chimed in.

"Sara Sidle," I answered, anxious to see what their reactions might be.

Warrick seemed oblivious and Nick looked shocked, but uncertain what to say. It was Catherine who repeated her name in astonishment.

"_Sara Sidle?"_

"Oh, I remember her," Warrick said, catching on. "She was the cold case turned hot… a few months ago, right?"

"Right," I told him, keeping Catherine from catching my gaze. "She was interested in forensics before, and she's just graduated with a Master's from Berkeley, with a Bachelor's at Harvard to boot. She's a good scientist, and she'll be good for our team."

"Have you spoken to her? Since her kidnapping?" Warrick asked.

"We've kept in touch, yes," I said, playing down our relationship. Catherine still looked like she wasn't buying any of it. "It's not a done deal just yet, but it's a major possibility, so I wanted to give you guys the head's up."

I sat down, looking and feeling serious.

"When she gets here, I don't want any of you to treat her like a victim or a former case," I said. "She's a lot more than that. Warrick, I know you didn't work her case much, but Nick, you did, and Catherine had personal contact with her. I want her to be treated like an equal, a member of our team. That's important to me."

None of them questioned it, and instead nodded solemnly.

"We will, Griss," Warrick said.

"We'll make her feel at home," Nick added.

"Good," I said. "I appreciate that. Now she probably won't be here for at least a few days, so we still have a lot of work to do. Nick, take the 419 in Henderson. The coroner's already there."

Nick took his case slip and took off.

"Warrick, you have a body at the Venetian," I continued. "Drowned. Find out if it was suicide or not."

Warrick followed Nick's suit, and I was left alone with Catherine, knowing that lot was going unsaid between us.

"Cath, body for you too, busy night," I said, passing her the slip.

She took it and looked like she was going to let things go, but paused on her way out the door, leaning on the frame.

"So Sara Sidle, huh?" she said.

I looked up at her.

"Yeah," I said, shrugging.

Catherine sighed.

"Gil, I know you better than that," she said. "Sara's case was one of the few you brought home with you. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Cath, we're all professionals," I said. "We have the capacity to put what happened to Sara behind us. With her intelligence and her skills, she could work anywhere she wanted. We're lucky to have her."

"Okay," Catherine sighed again, obviously unconvinced but letting it go for now.

I was grateful for it. Catherine could see that there was more to Sara and I than I was letting on, but I wasn't ready to discuss it quite yet. Even we didn't know exactly what we were. Right now, I was just grateful, grateful that I wasn't going to lose her, but, quite the opposite, would get to be around her each day.

I had even more to be grateful for when the lab director called to interrupt my paperwork, saying that he had no problems with Sara joining the lab.

I looked around the break room with a huge smile on my face, excited for the day when Sara would be sitting there, as part of my team.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**A/N: **So I messed with the timeline of the cases a little bit. Not too much – I just have "Cross Jurisdictions" _before _"The Strip Strangler". It made more sense plot-wise, and I didn't think it had too much an effect on anything else. Hopefully you'll forgive me for that :)

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><p><em>Chapter Twelve <em>

I didn't have long to wait.

I faxed all the necessary paperwork to Sara's apartment and she filled it out and faxed it back within a day. Since she was being hired on my recommendation, she didn't have to come in for an interview. After passing the drug test and background check, her name was on the next week's schedule.

She hired a moving company to help her clear out her apartment, turning down my persistent offers to fly out there and help her move. She said I had enough to handle already, which was true. Catherine and Warrick were in Miami, following up on a kidnapped child, which left an impossible amount of work for Nick and I. Through constant checking-in with her, I was told that she was successfully able to pack up her life, and was on the road to Vegas, a U-Haul hooked to her car. Neither of us had had the time to talk about living arrangements. She certainly hadn't had the time to look at apartments to rent, but I didn't even know if that's what she wanted. I had given her directions to my townhouse, so when she arrived, she'd be staying with me, for now. It was something we'd need to figure out.

But it was a small detail in the overwhelming excitement of having her here. I was selfishly glad that she'd made the decision to come, because I looked forward to spending more time with her, both at work and outside of it.

She pulled into my drive on a Saturday morning, and exited her car, in a blue tank top, khaki shorts and an exhausted look upon her face, and went straight into my arms. I clutched her to my chest, one hand underneath her short brown ponytail and told her I was glad she was here.

We unpacked only what she'd need for a few days, and left the heavy stuff in the U-Haul for later. I made a gourmet meal of macaroni and cheese (I was out of food yet again) and didn't even bother with a pretense of a movie, opting instead to go straight to my bedroom. It felt good to kiss her again. I had missed her presence in my home after she spent only one night there. There were plenty of work-related matters for us to discuss, but we left them for later.

And even though we'd unpacked her pajamas, she opted instead to wear the t-shirt of mine she'd worn last time. While we laid in the darkness together, she took my hand and slid it up into the worn material, stopping just under her breast. I broke away from her kiss.

"Sara…"

"You think too much," she chided. "You have a woman in your bed, and you're protesting. You're a sorry excuse for a man."

She started kissing my neck, and for a fleeting second, I wanted to show her just how much of a man I was, but I pulled away again.

"Sara."

"Gil," she said, stopping me. "I wouldn't push for anything I didn't want. Not with you. Trust me."

So I did. And we didn't make love that night. But her t-shirt and my boxers had ended up discarded on the floor and we slept body pressed to body. I couldn't stop myself from running my hands over every inch of her soft skin, feeling inexplicably, incredibly happy.

* * *

><p>I woke up Sunday morning to a rumpled but empty bed. I had learned while staying with Sara in San Francisco that she was an early riser. She had already made coffee, and when I entered the kitchen, she was hugging a steaming mug between her hands. I bent over her from behind and placed a kiss on her neck.<p>

"Morning."

"Morning," she murmured back.

"What are you looking at?"

She was bent over the morning's paper, flipped to the property ad section. I backed a few steps from her and looked at her in surprise.

"You're looking for apartments?"

"Shouldn't I be?" she asked, equally surprised.

"I… I don't know," I admitted. "I know we haven't talked about it, but I guess I just assumed you would live with me."

She looked at me with care and caution in her face.

"Don't you think it's a little early for that?"

I took the seat next to her.

"What do you think?"

"Well, logistically, I have a lot of stuff that won't all fit here," she said.

"What about not just logistic-wise?"

She dropped the paper and took my hand.

"Gil, I care about you a lot," she said. "This could possibly be leading to something wonderful. I just don't want to mess it up by moving too fast."

I nodded. There was nothing I couldn't argue with there, as I felt the same way.

"In that case," I said, pulling the paper to me and taking the pen from her hand. "I'm going to veto this one and this one right away."

I crossed them out with a big black X.

"Any particular reason why?"

"This one is in a not so good area," I reasoned. "And this one seems perfect, but it's much too far away from me."

"Okay, then," Sara said, marching to the counter to retrieve the cordless phone that rested there. "You find something, Mr. Picky."

"You want to get away from me that badly?"

"No," Sara said lightly, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "But we _should_ get that U-Haul out of your driveway sometime soon."

"Agreed."

So we spent Sunday afternoon apartment hunting. Having spent so many years in Vegas already, I knew all the good neighborhoods to check, and our search was narrowed down even further with Sara's specifications. Miraculously, later that afternoon, we were able to find something both suitable and available, with not too much space for one, but not too little, and that came with just enough furniture that, combined with what Sara had brought with her from California, she would have to buy very little. The real estate agent we spoke to said she'd be able to move in whenever she wanted.

We looked at each other and decided in a glance that we were both too tired to do it today. I had to go to work in a few short hours, and Sara's first shift was the next day. She needed a good sleep. We decided to unpack Sara's things as we had time, since in the meantime, she could always stay with me.

So I left Sara at my townhouse that night to go to a mercifully quiet shift. Warrick and Catherine called to say they'd wrapped their case in Miami and would be on the first flight out to Vegas the next morning. They'd be back in time for shift tomorrow. Nick and I were able to take care of the two cases that opened during our shift, and though I worked mine with diligence, I found myself thinking of Sara, and how excited I was to return home to her later that night.

When I finally did return home, she was waiting for me with a plate full of eggs and a smile. She'd spent the day taking small things, boxes of clothes and books, mostly, out of her car and into her new apartment. She talked as I ate, and then waited for me in bed while I showered. When I slipped in the sheets, still damp and smelling like aftershave, she spoke in a soft, low voice that I found utterly irresistible.

"It was quiet without you around today."

I gathered her up in my arms and kissed her. She hadn't bothered putting on pajamas, nor had I.

"I missed you too, honey."

"It's going to take some time to get used to the whole sleeping-during-the-day thing," she laughed, nodding towards the strips of sunlight peeking from around the blinds. "Don't you feel like a vampire?"

"Yes," I said in my best Transylvanian accent. "I vant to suck your blood!"

I placed my mouth on her neck and she giggled. My vampire-like kiss turned into many people-like kisses, and once we'd finally settled back down again, we were both lying on our sides, facing each other.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said softly, her fingers playing with my damp curls.

She was beautiful, the way her big, brown eyes sparkled as she looked up at me, and how her hair fell playfully around her face.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes," she said again after hesitating just slightly.

I smiled at her and brushed her own curls away.

"You'll be great," I assured her. "The team will love you, and you'll love the job, I promise you."

She nodded, and through the semi-darkness of the room, I could see tears building in her eyes.

"Honey," I said with concern. "Hey… what's this?"

"Thank you," she blurted out as I wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

"For… for what?"

"Everything," she choked. "Finding me, believing in me, bringing me here. Helping me to trust again. You've saved me more than you know."

"Oh, Sara," I said, pulling her close. "I could say the same to you."

Her tears kept flowing, but she kissed me through them. I hugged her tightly, then ran my hands over the beautiful lines of her body, wanting to make her feel safe and beautiful and loved all at the same time. Her hands were all over me too, sometimes soft, and sometimes pressing. We tousled with each other under the sheets, breaths growing ragged and body temperatures rising, until, before either of us even realized it, we were at _that _moment.

The moment in which I was positioned above her, watching her sprawled below me, knowing fully what I wanted, but unsure if she wanted the same. I expressed my question without words, meeting her eyes with mine, and within the deepest depths of her eyes, I could tell that she wanted this. I inched closer to her, and we had only just made the slightest of contact before I hesitated. She gasped in desperation.

"Sara, I… I don't have anything—"

She shook her head beneath me.

"We're good," she said. "I've been on the pill since I started college."

I pulled her head towards mine and captured her mouth with my lips, simultaneously pushing into her. She gasped again, this time with pure desire, and we began our rhythmic movement.

I was meant to love this woman; of that much I was sure. I knew what to do before I did it, she knew what I liked before I even thought it. It was easy, loving each other, but like nothing I'd ever felt before. Sara's body seemed to melt around me, if as if made to connect with mine. It was pure rapture, loving Sara, and as she grew closer and closer to climax, finally spilling over the top, it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. Her climax initiated mine, and we met each other on top, guiding each other back down slowly when we were done. Damp curls stuck to her forehead in sweat, her face was flushed and I could feel parts of her body still trembling as I held her to me.

I pressed a kiss into her hair and whispered to her what I'd known for what was probably a very long time.

"I love you, Sara."

With a voice throaty from sleep and sex, she replied against my chest.

"I love you, too."

She settled into sleep, and as grogginess started to claim me too, I fleetingly remembered that I would have to, the very next day, separate the Sara I worked with from the Sara who shared my bed. Casting all thoughts and worries aside, I reassured myself as sleep overtook me. We would be just fine.

How hard could it be?


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Sorry this took longer than usual. I have a question for you all - I was hoping to get this finished before the holidays, but I don't know if that's going to be able to happen. So... if I posted during/around the holidays, would you read? Or would you prefer to take a quick break and start back up in the New Year? This story's nearing its conclusion, so we don't have much to go, but I was just wondering what most of you would prefer. Thanks! _  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Thirteen <em>

I woke up the next morning to a stomach full of butterflies. I felt like a kid on the first day of school. And I realized, it kind of _was _Sara's first day of school.

She had be in early to get her ID badge and other CSI accoutrements, so by the time she was ready to leave, I was only in the shower.

"I'm leaving," she called.

"I'll see you there," I called back through the steam. "Good luck," I added, even though I knew she didn't need it.

When I arrived at the lab, I knew the lab director must have still been busy getting Sara set, because the usual stack of cases to be covered were missing from my mailbox. So I trooped to the break room, where, as per usual, my team was gathered.

"Does this mean we get the night off?" Nick joked, noting the lack of paperwork in my hands.

"Hardly," I teased back. "Even if Las Vegas decided to go crime-free for the night, I'd find you something to do."

"Maybe a little trash run will keep Mr. CSI Three busy," Warrick grinned, clapping Nick on the back.

Catherine snorted into her coffee.

"Cases will be in soon," I told all of them. "But first… you should know we got our new CSI."

Warrick raised his eyebrows, staring over my shoulder.

"You mean that one?"

I turned to see Sara standing in the doorway, clutching her badge and an armful of paperwork and flashing a small, shy smile.

"You're just in time," I beamed back at her. "Everyone, this is Sara. Sara… everyone."

"To be more specific, Warrick," Warrick said, extending his hand and offering her his widest smile. "Welcome to Sin City."

"Hi, Sara," Catherine said, getting up from her chair. "I'm…"

"Catherine," Sara finished, taking a deep breath.

"You look much better than last time I saw you."

My breath caught in my throat. I saw a flicker of fear pass in Sara's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

"It's good to see you again," Sara said softly.

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was the moment that had worried me the most. My relief turned to surprise as Nick strode past all of us and pulled Sara into a hug.

"Nick," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

As he pulled away, Sara laughed.

"And they say men from Texas are tough," she teased.

Nick's eyebrows rose.

"How did you…"

"Accent's not as understated as you think," Sara winked.

I let out another sigh. This would work out just fine.

"Did you finish?" I asked her, nodding towards the armful of folders.

"Almost," she said. "You really like your paperwork here, don't you?"

"Go ahead and finish it up," I instructed. "We haven't gotten cases yet. Looks like your first day might be a slow one."

"Slow day my ass," Jim said, walking in as Sara turned to walk out. "Hold up there, newbie. I had a whole slew of cases turned into me to pass over to you. Have fun."

He handed me the stack of slips in his hand and I rifled through them.

"Jeez," I muttered. "Catherine, Warrick… body in Henderson. Nick, body in an alley off the strip. Sara, you'll be with me. Body in Green Valley."

We split our separate ways and I restocked my kit while I waited for Sara to finish her paperwork. We loaded into my Denali – hers had yet to be assigned – and set off.

"Now, this is a nicer part of town," I told her. "But that doesn't mean we rule out anything suspicious or malicious. I'll do most of the processing, but I want you to take all the scene photos, and do some of the collecting. Okay?"

In the passenger seat, Sara nodded. I reached over the console and put a hand on her knee.

"Are you nervous?"

Sara just exhaled and nodded again.

"Don't be," I assured her. "This may be your first case, but you're more than qualified to handle it, and I know you'll be just fine. And if anything goes wrong, I'll be right there with you."

Sara smiled shyly.

"Thanks."

"Honey... are you okay?"

She was silent for a moment, and for that moment, I could only imagine what was running through her mind. I felt another wave of fear that I was being selfish and moving things too quickly. I worried that the amazing strength Sara had been exhibiting was waning. I was already calculating how I could protect her, comfort her.

"No, I'm okay," she whispered, nodding. "I promise. I'm fine."

We pulled up to our crime scene, a building that sort of still resembled a house. Half of it was incinerated, and it was still smoking. Jim had beaten us there.

"Vic's name is Ashleigh Thomas," he said. "Good luck getting any sort of DNA off her, but this is her house, and a neighbor said he saw her pulling into her drive a few minutes before the explosion. Watch your step."

He held the tape up for Sara and I and followed us into what used to be a garage. It was now a mess of black ash, and the burned remains of Ashleigh Thomas were at our feet. I peeked at Sara through the corner of my gaze and saw her struggling to keep her breath. I had a sudden urge to reach out and grip her hand, but was suddenly aware of the all the police and medics around us, including Jim.

"I'm going to keep talking to people," Jim continued, unaware. "Most of them are pretty freaked out, but a few might be helpful. See you later."

"Are you okay?" I asked Sara the moment he left.

"Yeah," she said weakly. "What do you want me to do first?"

"Just look," I said. "What do you see?"

I watched as her eyes scanned the burned garage. I saw several items of interest along the way, and hoped she'd pick up on them too.

"It looks like the car is at the core of the damage she said slowly. "It's probably the point of explosion."

I nodded.

"Good."

"She… the vic… is a few feet away from the car, so she might have been pushed back in the explosion," Sara continued.

"Very good," I said. "Now, emergency responders would only disturb the scene if there was sign of life. She was obviously dead, so we can assume that what's left of this car is exactly how it was before it exploded."

"Which means the doors were open," Sara observed, stepping carefully around the wreckage to get a better look. "Maybe she came in contact with something inside that initiated the blast."

"We'll take it back to the lab for a better look," I said. "I'll process the body, you work your way from the outside in, take multiple photos at every angle, and collect anything you think is relevant or interesting."

Sara nodded.

"Okay."

We both worked diligently, mostly in silence, but Sara interrupting my thought process every few minutes to ask a question. I smiled when she did so, paying careful attention to what she was doing and feeling an unmistakable sense of pride in her work so far.

Within a few hours, we'd finished processing the body and the garage. Most of the neighbors had cleared away, one taken to the hospital for smoke inhalation, and Jim had rushed off to take care of Nick's scene.

"Do we process the rest of the house next?" Sara asked.

"Only what's relevant," I said. "We'll take a sweep through every room, but I think everything of importance is in here. Let's take a look."

We pushed our way through the burned door into Ashleigh Thomas's kitchen. It was relatively unharmed. The responding firefighters must have done a heck of a job containing the fire to the garage.

"Groceries on the counter," I noted. "Take a picture of that."

She took several, of the outside and insides of the bags.

"I count five bags here, three of them empty," she said, walking to the refrigerator and opening it. "But the fridge isn't restocked."

I leaned back on the counter.

"You want to call it?"

"Already?" Sara said. "Okay. The victim went shopping. She got home, and started unloading her groceries, leaving the car doors open between trips. Halfway through bringing in her bags, something ignited in her car, and it exploded."

"Seems that way," I agreed. "Now let's get this stuff back to the lab, and we can work on finding out the who and how."

Sara nodded, packed up her kit and scooped up an armful of evidence bags. The scene had long been cleared out, and we were the only two standing in the garage. I put a quick kiss on Sara's cheek before grabbing my kit and evidence.

"Good job, honey," I said. "You're a natural."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N: **Many of you said you'd read over the holidays, so I'll see what I can do! But this week will be busy, so it'll probably be the last until after Christmas. I hope everyone has a wonderful time celebrating whichever holiday you choose!

Also, I got the idea for this case based on something that actually happened. Unfortunately, I wrote this story so long ago, I can't remember where it happened! But most of the details, and all of the names, are mine.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Fourteen<em>

For the next few days, we worked Ashleigh Thomas's case. After getting over her initial nervousness at the crime scene, Sara worked diligently and with enthusiasm. She talked the case over on our way home after shift, and continued to analyze while in the shower, eating dinner and lying next to me in bed. Eventually, I had to convince her to talk of something – anything – else, telling her that the cases had to stay at the lab, just as our affection had to stay at home.

As it turned out, Sara had landed a tricky first case. It took days to sort through the evidence collected at the house, but we were left with no evidence of a suspect. Ashleigh Thomas had a rather clingy ex-boyfriend that she had a TRO against, but he had a viable alibi. Jim had traced down her workplace – a hair salon – but none of the other employees had any motive to kill her, and many were at work the night of Ashleigh's death.

The seventh night after Ashleigh's car exploded, we were standing over a table full of evidence and nothing to make of it.

"I don't get it," Sara said, staring at the collection of items and photos on the table. "We can't find any trace of someone else in that garage, we have nobody with a motive to kill her and we still don't know what made the car explode."

She looked up at me.

"Am I missing something?"

I had to admit, the case had stumped me a little too. But I had a hunch.

"Look around," I hinted. "What evidence sticks out to you?"

"Well, most of it's pretty useless," Sara said, motioning to the burned, charred remains of the scene. "We can't get any kind of trace, DNA or otherwise off anything we collected in the garage."

"What's not useless?" I asked. "What's not from the garage?"

"Well… we have the groceries from the kitchen," Sara started. "And the personal effects I collected from the salon when I went there with Brass."

I was in court when she went. I picked up the plastic bag with a pair of brown pants and a blue blouse.

"These are Ashleigh's clothes?" I asked.

"The owner said Ashleigh had a full schedule that day, and at some point, spilled peroxide on herself," Sara replied. "He said it happens a lot, so most of the girls keep a change of clothes at the salon, just in case."

I looked up at her, and could see the information running through her mind.

"Hydrogen peroxide could cause a hazardous reaction when mixed with certain materials," she said slowly. "Maybe that's what sparked the explosion."

"I think you're right," I smiled. "Let's get her clothes to trace to verify, and get back to the salon."

* * *

><p>"This was Ashleigh's station?"<p>

"Mhmm," Sara murmured in response as she looked around. "She shared it with one other girl, but the owner confirmed it was Ashleigh's the night of her death."

I stopped to take pictures of the bottles and sprays by the mirror.

"Sara," I said. "What's missing?"

Her eyes scanned the shelves.

"Hydrogen peroxide," she whispered.

"Alexander," I called, waving over the owner. "Ashleigh's station is missing a bottle of peroxide. Care to explain that?"

The tall, blonde man blinked at me.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You told us Ashleigh changed clothes because she spilled peroxide on them," I recounted. "But there's no such chemical here."

"Because she spilled it," Alexander said, as if it was obvious.

"So where's her bottle now?"

Alexander's mouth dropped open a little bit, looking as if he just remembered something.

"She took it home with her," he said.

"Why would she do that?" Sara jumped in.

"She has a few clients off the books," Alexander says. "Cuts hair out of her home. She doesn't have a salon or anything, but I know she keeps a few of the useful tools in stock. We ran out of peroxide last week… didn't get our next shipment until the day before yesterday."

Sara turned to me.

"So Ashleigh took an almost-empty bottle of peroxide back to her home," she said. "We didn't find it."

"Which means that it was probably in the car," I continued. "And probably _was _what initiated the explosion."

"But mixed with what?" Sara mused. "A contained bottle of peroxide wouldn't just self-combust. It had to react with something."

"Let's get back to the lab," I winked.

* * *

><p>For the second time that day, Sara and I stood over the table full of evidence. We had gotten several breakthroughs in the case, and most of them due to Sara, with a little help from me. I was very proud of her.<p>

"Now, again, what's not useless?" I said. "What catches your attention?"

"The gases from her car could have ignited the peroxide, if they were in contact long enough," Sara said, mostly to herself. "Which means the bottle of peroxide was probably leaking…"

Her eyes flickered from one photo to the next. Her head snapped up.

"Cigarettes."

I smiled.

"One of her grocery bags contained a pack of cigarettes," she said, excitement growing in her voice as she flipped open a file. "And one of Brass's witnesses said Ashleigh was a smoker, she smoked outside all the time, and the neighbor hated it, because she has kids."

I pulled out Sara's close-up of the grocery bags.

"This pack has one cigarette missing," I said. "Ashleigh must not have been able to resist her craving for very long."

"And halfway through unloading her groceries, she takes one out to smoke," Sara continued, nodding. "She goes back out to the garage, leans into the car to get more bags…"

"Lights her cigarette, and the peroxide, mixed with the fumes from the car in the garage, ignites," I finished.

Sara continued to stare at me, her smile fading just a little.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "You look disappointed."

"It was an accident," she said. "A huge explosion, a meddling boyfriend, a house up in flames… and it was all an accident."

"That happens," I reasoned. "Not every case you work will be a homicide and sometimes people die from mistakes or accidents. But you worked this thoroughly, took each logical step and followed clues and leads as they arose. You did very well, Sara."

Her smile returned.

"Thank you."

"We'll fill out the paperwork," I said. "This one's closed."

"You finish your first case, newbie?" came a voice from the door. We turned to find Nick leaning against the doorjamb. "Whodunnit?"

"Nobody," Sara answered. "Well, I guess the vic did it. Accident."

"Congratulations, Sara," Nick smiled. "She get to stay?"

"I think so," I laughed.

"Well, then you deserve a celebratory breakfast," Nick said. "You, me, Warrick, Catherine, heck, let's bring Greg. He's been eying you since you got here… boss man? You comin?"

I smiled.

"I'll be there."

"Frank's in twenty," Nick called on his way out. "Way to go, newbie!"

Sara turned back towards me, a beaming grin on her face. I could only smile back, feeling pleased and happy, and knowing that later, I'd give her a congratulation of my own.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**A/N: **Did you all have a wonderful Christmas? I hope so :)

This is by far the longest story I've written! Thanks for hanging in there with me :) There are two more chapters after this, so depending on how things go, it'll probably be wrapped up soon after the New Year.

All of you who said it wouldn't be so easy for G&S to work together... well...

* * *

><p><em>Chapter Fifteen <em>

Ashleigh Thomas's case wrapped up easily enough, but was safe to say Sara's second week in Vegas started with a bang. We walked in expecting a normal night, but she barely had enough time to drop her things into her new locker before jumping into the deep end with the rest of us on a serial case, a smart and elusive killer that had been dubbed "the strip strangler" because of how he killed his victims. It was a mess of a case, mostly because it included eventual FBI involvement. And the FBI, in my experience, always messed things up.

I didn't know whose idea it originally was to use a decoy target, but I didn't like the idea from the get-go. The thought of placing anyone from my team – or anyone from the lab, for that matter – in danger was not negotiable. And the idea of Sara in harm's way, given her past or not, was simply inconceivable to me. I would not do it, not for anything. I was able to talk down the agents as best I could until I couldn't take it any longer. I grabbed Sara's arm and pulled her aside.

"What are you doing?" I asked her, astonished and angry. "After what you've been through, you decide to purposely put yourself directly in harm's way in your first few weeks on the job? What part of this is a good idea, Sara?"

She looked at me, and I realized we never spoke much about what had happened to her. It wasn't directly on purpose, but I realized a little too late that mentioning it out of the blue while at work might not have been the best approach.

"This is my chance to help stop this guy before he hurts any one else," she said slowly. "Before someone has to go through something like I did."

"We'll do that, Sara, by following the evidence, and outsmarting him," I replied. "Just like I've always told you."

"I took classes in weaponless defense after my rescue," Sara tried to reason. "I'll be fine, Gil, I just want to help."

"Well, it's not happening," I said angrily. "I won't allow it."

Sara looked as if I'd hit her straight across the face with an open palm.

"You won't _allow it_?" she repeated with venom in her voice. "As if this is _your _call?"

"Yes, Sara, it _is_ my call," I nearly spat. "I'm your supervisor here for one, and I also happen to be—"

"My what, exactly?" she challenged. "We haven't even talked about whatever it is we are. And that's fine, but you can't treat me one way in bed at night and another way at work—"

I looked around anxiously. I hadn't _exactly _mentioned the relationship between Sara and I… whatever that relationship was.

"—and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I'm not a kitten that needs to be looked after twenty-four hours a day. I'm my own person, with my own brain, who can take care of herself."

"I know that, Sara," I said, more calmly. "But you're not doing this."

But a few hours later, she did. Between our words and her big FBI operation, I tried to continue to work the case, trying to ignore the blaring detail that our first ever fight had happened within the first month of us working together. I told myself it was not a sign of things to come, it was a direct result of the pressures of the case, and the meddling presence of the damn FBI. Once this mess was resolved, we'd talk, come to an understanding, kiss a little (or a lot), and vow to never do it again.

But when Jim told me Sara had been taken to do the operation against my will, all hell broke loose. I remember the rage that coursed through me, directed at Jim, for knowingly putting her in danger… after he _knew _what she'd been through, and _knew _how I felt about her. I felt betrayed, and I stormed from his office to meet up with the agents at their stakeout location. I tried to keep my blood from boiling, trying to keep my fear under control as I watched Sara stroll up and down the aisles of a grocery store, just waiting to be preyed upon. I was failing miserably, my pulse racing. As I led her away from the store, a strong hand on her back, I promised not to let her out of my sight until this guy was caught. The case had other ideas for me, and my obligations as head of the shift pulled me away from her. So I kept her with Nick, whom I trusted to keep her safe, even if I didn't have to tell him with words.

When we were finally able to go home and get some sleep after the case closed, after my close call with Sid Goggle, I half-hoped everything would be miraculously resolved between us, but when we went to bed early that morning, we did nothing but sleep. She even wore her pajamas.

And the next morning, I woke to an empty bed as usual, but not as usual, also an empty apartment. She left a note stuck to a half-full pot of coffee saying she was moving the rest of her things into her apartment, to finally rid my driveway of her car and storage space. She'd signed it _Love, S, _but her words were cordial at best. I tried calling her, but with no luck, and I didn't see her until it was nearly time for us both to report for shift. I'd given her my spare key, but she knocked anyways, and the face I opened the door to was steeled, but anxious.

"Did you finish?" I asked her softly.

"It looks good."

I pressed the door closed behind her, preparing myself for the inevitable.

"Sara, we need to talk."

She turned back towards me, eyes wild and emotional.

"Was this even a good idea?" she asked. "I mean, did I even really think this through? Or was I just so… anxious to be around you that I didn't stop to think?"

"We've moved fast…"

"That's not what's bothering me," she said. "When I said I loved you, I meant it. It's just… we never even stopped to think about how this was going to work, being together and working together… it's a difficult thing to balance for people who have known each other years… let alone just a few months."

"I know."

"What did they say when you first brought up hiring me?" she asked as my stomach dropped. "Obviously they must have had concerns, but did they tell you how to handle it?"

When I was silent, she repeated her question.

"How are we supposed to handle this?"

"I… I don't know," I replied, softly and reluctantly.

She gaped at me.

"How can you _not know_?" she said. "You're the supervisor… aren't things like this your… responsibility?"

I breathed deeply, already knowing that this was not going to go well.

"Sara, I…"

She continued to stare at me, and I had to take another deep breath before I continued.

"When I put up the paperwork to hire you, I didn't tell either of the lab directors about what's going on between us… personally," I said. "They recognized the possible conflict of interest regarding your case, but it just didn't seem fit to bring it up right then."

"But you told them eventually," Sara said slowly, her gaze unwavering. "You did… didn't you?"

My silence answered her for me.

"You didn't _tell them_?"

"I… I didn't know what there was between us," I managed to stutter. "Or where it was going."

"So it wasn't anything worth mentioning until I slept with you," she growled. "Our dinner in Vegas, those days you spent with me in California, those weren't anything important, nothing was definable until I _put out for you_?"

The conversation had spun out of control, and I had no idea how to rein it in.

"No, Sara, that's not it at all," I tried to explain. "You've _always _meant something to me, even before I met you. H-honey, you _know _how much I care about you."

"But not enough to tell anyone about us," she finished, before pausing. "Does _anybody _know?"

I gave her my most apologetic look.

"I don't think so."

She froze with her mouth wide open. She placed trembling fingers to her lips and started to pace.

"I can't believe this," she said quietly. "I can't _believe _this…"

"Sara, stay here tonight," I pleaded. "Please, we can—"

"Have sex again, and everything will be okay?" she interrupted.

"N-no," I stammered. "So we can… talk. Fix this. Let me fix this, honey."

She positively flinched at the endearment. I took a few cautious steps towards her, but she edged away, making her way towards the door.

"I… I need some time," she said with her hand on the doorknob.

"Don't leave it like this," I said, pleading with her again.

"I can't do this right now," she said, seeing in her eyes that she was now pleading with me. "Pair me with Nick for my next case. And give me some time."

And she backed away out the door. I went to a very empty bed, but sleep was fruitless. Sara was on my mind no matter what I tried. It was like all those months ago, when I was working Sara's case and her face was all I could see at night. I had half a mind to take out the old school I.D. picture we'd used for broadcasts and stare at it like I used to.

Things were entirely my fault. I had been so careful, so cautious not to push Sara into something she wasn't ready for, but I blew it all with one rookie mistake. I should have put trust in my feelings for her, and started her new life and her career in Vegas with honesty and respect. Instead, I'd made her feel slighted, and now she was upset, and I couldn't blame her in the least bit.

And even though having Sara and then losing her, sleeping without her beside me and spending my afternoons without her laugh hurt more than anything, I wouldn't give myself any sympathy or compassion.

I hated myself as much as she probably did.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

__**A/N: **Happy 2012! I wish each and every one of you a happy and healthy year.

I passed 200 reviews with the last chapter, which also happens to be a record number of reviews on one story for me. I am very proud of this story, and so I want to thank every single one of you who have reviewed thus far. You make me smile, and you make the late nights of frantic writing when I should be sleeping totally worth it.

This is the penultimate chapter... an epilogue will follow, hopefully shortly. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter<em> Sixteen<em>

Things were… strange… after that. It was like living in limbo, not ever really knowing where I stood with Sara. We talked, but it was strained. She came by the townhouse, and I went to her apartment, but neither of us stayed the night once in the next few weeks. She still let me touch her, and call her honey, but her eyes weren't as bright as I remembered them to be, and her words had lost their warmth. We acted as normal as possible while at work, but that almost hurt more than not having her like I used to.

The littlest things spurred hurt and anger and emotion. She was fitting in with the team well, but every smile from a joke of Nick's or laugh at the hands of Greg had me reeling with bitterness. I just wanted her back, back to the way things used to be between us, back to our happiness.

But it seemed I was the only one. Though we saw each other outside the lab, she made no mention of our argument that day, nor did she show any intention of breaking down the wall that had built up between us.

Until one rainy afternoon.

An unexplained wave of crime had hit the city a day before, and the entire team had pulled a double trying to cover all the cases coming in. Thunder boomed in the distance as I finally walked through the front door of my home, heading straight for the bedroom. The bedroom that had not seen Sara's presence in nearly three weeks.

I intended to go directly to bed – I was bone tired – but I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and listened to the rain pound against my windows and all I could think about was Sara.

I had hurt her. I knew it. But I had no idea how to handle it, what to say to her to make things better, or even where to go from here. She wasn't treating me with hostility, just cool indifference. It was heartbreaking.

And then, just as I finally began to doze off, the phone rang. Not my work-provided cell, but the townhouse phone only a select few had the number to. I knew it had to be important.

"Hello?"

"G-Gil?"

"Sara?" I sat straight up in bed as a flash of lightening lit the room. "Is everything all right?"

"N-no."

Her voice was shaky, and I could hear the fear leaking through and the tears that she was fighting so hard to hold back.

"P-please come quick."

"Sara, what happened?" I asked, panicky, pulling on my sweatpants and nearly tripping over the tennis shoes I'd left by my bed.

"I s-saw him," she whispered.

My mind went racing out of control. Seen who? It couldn't have been Thomas Moore, the man who had kidnapped and tortured her, he was long dead. Was someone else stalking her? Had Moore had an accomplice who was returning to finish the job? What had I done?

"Where, Sara?" I asked calmly, snatching my car keys from the counter.

"S-sleep."

I breathed only a small sigh of relief. She had seen Moore in her dreams, nightmares, more likely, not in her house or outside her window. She wasn't in harm's way, but she was shaken, and I needed to get to her as soon as possible.

"I'm coming, honey," I told her. "I'll call you from my cell phone so we can stay on the line until I get there."

I talked her down all the way from my place to hers, so that when she opened the door for me, drenched from the six feet I'd ran from my car to her door, she was no longer crying, but her whole body seemed to be trembling.

I stepped into the apartment without hesitation and took her into my arms. We didn't say much after that, I held her for so long that I lost track of time. The storm died down around us, and soon enough, only the _drip drop _of the remaining raindrops could be heard. She picked her head up from my chest, and I captured her face in my hands.

"Are you all right?"

I kept my voice no louder than a whisper. I felt like anything more would make her jump.

"Yeah," she said softly.

She got up from the couch, walked to the kitchen, and came straight back. She looked at me, and we both spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry."

I got up and went to her, taking her hands in mine.

"No, Sara, _I'm _sorry," I said. "This is my mess. I should have handled it better. And I never meant to hurt you."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said quietly.

"_Don't be,_" I stressed.

"And I'm sorry I've been acting so selfish lately, I—"

I shut her up the only way I knew how – with a kiss. When we broke away, she had the smallest of smiles on her face.

"Don't be," I repeated. We both sat back on the couch, thighs touching. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"It was stupid."

"No, Sara, it wasn't," I said. "I'm worried about you, and it'll only be worse if I'm not convinced you're okay."

"It was a nightmare," she said. "I have them all the time about… other stuff… but this was the first one I've had about… you know."

I nodded.

"I thought that since I'd gone so long without thinking about it, that it was over," she continued. "I... push things away, push them... down, so that I don't have to... deal with it. It's... the only way I can function, to convince myself that its done with, out of my mind. But it came back so crystal-clear, all the details, it just…"

"Scared you," I finished.

She took a deep breath.

"Yeah."

I tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"I'm glad you called me," I told her.

"I'm glad you came."

We both smiled, but I could see the uncertainty lingering in her eyes.

"We still have a lot to talk about, don't we?" she asked.

"Yes," I admitted. "We do. But we don't have to do it right now."

She nodded and I pulled her close, and we stayed that way for several silent minutes.

"Sara, I do want you to know," I said softly after a while. "If… if you don't want to stay here… if you want to move somewhere else, I completely understand. I'll support you whatever you decide and wherever you go."

She sat up suddenly.

"I'm not leaving," she said firmly.

"Y-you're not?"

"No," she said with the smallest hint of a smile. "That was… horrible… but... do you really think one nightmare is going to chase me away?"

I smiled in spite of myself. I should have known my Sara was stronger than that.

"Well, maybe we can work something out regarding living together," I offered. "Maybe spend some nights here, some nights at my place… some nights apart, if we need it. Just not so much time apart."

"That sounds perfect."

"And… I will mention… us… to the lab."

She looked right at me.

"Will that change anything?"

"Not really," I said honestly. "Catherine or Jim or somebody will have to handle your evaluations, but there's nothing holding you back from your job… or keeping us from working together."

She leaned back into me.

"Good."

I kissed her hair and sighed.

"We probably should have had this talk a long time ago, shouldn't we?"

"Probably," Sara chuckled.

"Well, there's something about you that makes me lose some of my sense of judgment, Sara Sidle," I said.

She laughed again and pulled up from me, squirming around so that we were sitting facing each other.

"Really?"

"Really."

"So," she began. I didn't like the teasing tone of her voice. "If I were to tell you that shift starts in two hours, it would be logical judgment to start to get ready for work."

"Yes," I said slowly.

"But… if I started to do this," she said, beginning to unzip the sweatshirt that covered her bra. "Would that… skew your judgment at all?"

She continued until the shirt was opened to her naval.

"Yes," I growled, crawling towards her and pushing the sweatshirt completely off her as she lay below me. "I would say it would slant my good judgment a little."

"And if I did this?"

She kissed me with such sudden ferocity that it made my knees buckle. I fell on top of her, and we crashed, as one, to the floor.

The only clothes she had left on were a cotton bra and a pair of shorts, and I removed them with ease, kissing the bare skin as it was revealed. I couldn't begin to describe how good it felt to touch her again, and each gentle sweep over her skin made me realize how very empty my life had seemed without her. What was usual and normal before – a life revolving around work, and empty townhouse and no one to fall asleep beside at night – now suddenly seemed wrong. With Sara, everything was right.

She tugged my sweatpants down to my feet, and with some help from me, succeeded in removing them completely, followed by my t-shirt. She seemed just as anxious to touch me – her hands were trailing up and down my back, leaving goose bumps in their wake. Our mouths barely separated, need growing inside of her as rapidly as it was growing within me. I couldn't help it – I couldn't wait – and I pushed into her with such strength, that somewhere along the way, her strangled cry got lost and all she could manage was a raspy gasp.

She felt wonderful. She felt like the home I never really knew I had. My movements inside her were slow, enjoying how she felt around me. Her hands were working their magic as we rocked, making me moan with pleasure alongside her.

We moved faster, together, and I found myself wanting to see her beauty, to watch her spill over the edge and know that it was me that put her there. She wasn't far away, I could feel it. I removed my lips from hers and bent close to her ear.

"I love you, Sara."

She let go, and it was beautiful. I followed not long after, and stayed inside her as we gathered each other up, not wanting to lose the contact.

"That was—"

"I know," I whispered, cutting her off.

She smiled at me and traced the outline of my jaw with a delicate finger.

"I love you, too."

"I know."

I kissed her neck, and she giggled, and we kissed some more until we realized with a start that we had only thirty minutes remaining until the both of us were supposed to report for work. We abandoned showers, tried to remedy the mess our actions had made of our hair, and put on clothes that were slightly less wrinkled.

I drove with her to the lab, and we walked up to the doors hand-in-hand, pausing ever so slightly just outside.

"Are we going to be okay?" she asked.

I squeezed her fingers and smiled at her, knowing full well that I truly believed what I was about to say.

"We'll be just fine."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

__**A/N:** A big, big thank you to ILoveJorja, who has betaed every one of these chapters for me. I asked for a lot of her time and help and patience, and this story is much better for it.

Thank you for reading. This story was something different for me, but I enjoyed hearing your thoughts and I'm glad I decided to post it!

Of course, you know I won't be able to stay away long. I have something in the works that my good friend CSIFan8686 convinced me to publish. Let's just say, if you like Sara Sidle, and her story, stay tuned :)

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><p><em>Epilogue<em>

_Seven years later_

"I spent almost my entire professional career stressing that the most important element in a case is always the evidence," I said. "And it _is _important, but it is not always what makes the case. The human element is important too, and although it's true that people can lie, and evidence cannot, you must not forget to consider the human element in your work."

I looked out into the crowd of faces, a mix of young and old, eager investigators with not one solve under their belts to seasoned professionals that had been around longer than I had. It had been an honor to be asked to give the last lecture of the year's forensic seminar, and though I had accepted immediately with enthusiasm, I subsequently spent weeks organizing and crafting my speech, making sure I was delivering the right message to make an impact. From the looks on the faces staring back at me, I had succeeded.

"A good testimony can break a case," I continued. "A reliable witness can be just as important as a pristine fingerprint. And human behavior can always lead to clues, if you study it closely enough. If I had stood before you eight years ago, I wouldn't have told you this. But as you have seen today, one case can change your mind and change your life."

I paused. The speech that I had written on my note cards was finished, but I felt like there was one last thing I had to say.

"Work every case like it's a career-winner," I said. "Leave no stone unturned. And never give up. If I had… if my team and my lab had, we would not have gotten the results that you saw today. The case I just played out for you would not have ended like it did and the victim might not have been saved."

I made eye contact with the person sitting in the front row, first seat on the aisle. Sara was beside Nick, who was beside the rest of our team, and they were all beaming at me, but she was smiling the widest of all.

"But the case _was _solved and she _did _survive," I finished. "And thank God she did. Because I married her."

I beamed right back at Sara, and several heads turned towards the direction to which I was speaking, but Sara only had eyes for me. I jerked my head a little, nodding at her for her to come join me on stage, and after a little prodding from Nick, she did. She skipped up the couple stairs to the platform on which I was speaking, and underneath the florescent lights of the auditorium, we kissed.

The other lectures had gotten applause, but mine got a standing ovation.


End file.
